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STEAY  LEAVES 

FROM 

THE  BOOK  OF  MTURE. 


M.  SCHELE  DE  YERE, 

OF     THE     UNIVERSITY     OF  VIRGINIA, 


NEW  YORK: 
A.  0.  MOORE,  AGRICULTURAL  BOOK  PUBLISHER, 

(late  C.  M,  6AXT0N  &  CO.) 

No.  140  FULTON  STREET. 
1858. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by 
6.  P.  Putnam  and  Company, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


# 


WTNKOOP,  HALLENBECK  <&  THOMAS, 

Prf  nters, 

113  Fulton  Street,  N.  Y. 


I  grieve  not  that  ripe  knowledge  takes  away 
The  charm  that  Nature  to  my  childhood  wore. 

For  with  the  insight  cometh  day  by  day, 
A  greater  bliss  than  wonder  was  before. 

To  win  the  secret  of  a  weed's  plain  heart, 

Reveals  the  clue  to  spiritual  things. 

The  soul  that  looks  within  for  truth  may  guess 

The  presence  of  some  unknown  heavenliness." 

J.  RtrSSELL  LOWELU 


CONTENTS. 


1.  Only  a  Pebble   7 

II.  Nature  in  Motion   29 

III.  The  Ocean  and  its  Life  ,   8*7 

IV.  A  Chat  about  Plants   118 

V.  Younger  Years  of  a  Plant   154 

VI.  Later  Years  of  a  Plant   195 

VIL  Plant-Mummies   223 

VIII.  Unknown  Tongues   241 

IX.  A  Trip  to  the  Moon   265 


STEAY  LEAVES 

FEOM  THR 

BOOK   OF  NATURE. 


I. 

"All  Nature  widens  upward.  Evermore 
The  simpler  essence  lower  lies : 
More  complex  is,  more  perfect,  owning  more, 
Discourses  more  widely  wise."— Tennyson. 

A  WAY  out  in  Mesopotamia,  the  traveller  sees  vast 
plains  unroll  themselves  before  his  wondering  eye, 
and  scattered  over  them  many  a  grassy  knoll  with  its 
flock  of  goats  and  camels.  No  one  suspected  that  under 
those  hills  lay  buried  the  ancient  glory  of  Nineveh,  "an 
exceeding  great  city  of  three  days'  journey,  wherein  are 
more  than  six  score  thousand  persons."  Like  the  faint 
echo  of  distant  thunder,  a  few  half-forgotten  names  and 
vague,  dream-like  legends,  were  all  that  had  come  down 


8 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


to  us  from  the  vast  empire,  whose  merchants  were  many, 
"even  as  the  stars  in  heaven."  But  a  man  came  from  a 
far  off  island,  he  gathered  the  stones  that  lay  scattered 
about,  and  the  silence,  that  had  brooded  over  them  for 
countless  ages,  was  broken  by  his  magic  touch.  Here  he 
found  on  a  brick  strange  and  yet  familiar  signs;  there 
he  dug,  out  of  the  rubbish  of  thousands  of  years,  costly 
slabs  of  alabaster,  and  on  them  were  carved  gigantic,  awe- 
inspiring  figures.  The  Bible  in  his  hand  he  read,  and 
name  after  name  resumed  life  and  meaning,  until  at  last 
the  whole  of  its  wondrous  splendor  was  unfolded  before 
him. 

And  thus  there  lies  many  a  stone  in  our  path  that 
might  teach  us  lessons  of  grave  import — for  when  the  tra- 
ditions of  men  are  silent,  stones  become  eloquent.  But 
we  thrust  them  aside  and  we  say  with  contempt:  It  is 
only  a  pebble!  We  call  it  dead,  lifeless  nature.  Oh,  if 
it  were  a  noble  animal,  a  beauteous  plant !  or  even  a 
rusty  coin,  a  worm-eaten  parchment,  upon  which  some  an- 
cient dreamer  wrote  his  long-forgotten  fancies  about  heaven 
and  earth — how  we  would  tax  our  ingenuity,  how  we  would 
search  through  the  wide  field  of  human  knowledge,  and 
bring  the  wisdom  of  ages  to  bear  upon  the  great  secret! 
For  are  not  coins  and  parchments  the  work  of  man  1  He 
deigns  not  to  read  the  bright  letters  with  which  Earth 
herself  has  written  her  history  on  the  simple  sides  of  a 
pebble. 

Only  a  pebble !  Oh  man,  that  stone  which  you  thrust 
so  contemptuously  out  of  your  way,  is  older  than  all  else 
on  this  earth!     When   the  waters   under  heaven  were 


Only  a  Pebble. 


9 


gathered  together  unto  one  place,  that  pebble  was  there. 
Who  can  tell  us  the  story  of  those  first  days,  when  the 
earth  was  in  sore  travail,  when  her  heaving  bosom  belched 
forth  torrents  of  fire,  vast  avalanches  of  hissing,  seething 
water,  and  volumes  of  deadly  vapors?  When  glowing, 
blazing  streams  of  lava  threw  a  bloody  red  glare  on  the 
silent,  lifeless  earth,  and  amidst  a  trembling  and  thunder- 
ing that  shook  the  firmament,  a  thousand  volcanoes  at 
once  lifted  up  their  fiery  heads;  when  out  of  the  foam- 
ing waters  there  rose  suddenly  the  rocky  foundations  of 
firm  land  and  greeted  the  light  that  God  had  created? 

That  pebble  was  Life's  first  offspring  on  earth.  The 
Spirit  of  God  moved  on  the  waters,  and  life  was  breathed 
into  the  very  gases  that  were  hid  in  the  heart  of  the 
vapory  globe.  They  parted  in  love,  they  parted  in  hate; 
they  fled  and  they  met.  Atom  joined  atom;  loving  sis- 
ters kissed  each  other,  and  this  love,  the  great  child  of 
that  Spirit  on  earth,  brought  forth  its  first  fruit,  the  peb- 
ble! Other  stones  also  arose;  out  of  the  dark  chaos  new 
brothers  were  seen  to  appear,  and  countless  friends  stood 
by  the  side  of  the  first  comer.  Warmth  spread  through 
their  limbs,  electric  currents  shaped  and  fashioned  them 
into  ever  new  forms,  and  they  were  joined  into  families 
and  races  each  in  his  kind. 

And  now  the  wild  struggle  subsided.  The  fierce  spirits 
of  fire  were  banished  far  down  to  the  dark  caverns  of  the 
earth ;  but  in  angry  passion  they  still  rage  and  roar  be- 
low, rise  in  powerless  fury  until  the  earth  trembles  and 
the  heart  of  man  is  awed,  or  pour  forth  streams  of  burning 

lava  through  mighty  volcanoes.    Thus  the  flames  bring  us, 
1* 


10 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


even  now,  messages  from  the  vasty  deep,  and  the  lava 
shows  us  that  what  is  firm  and  fast  on  the  surface  is  still 
boiling  and  seething  below.  Ever  yet  the  unruly  spirits 
trouble  the  earth.  Here  they  lift  Sweden  or  Chili  high 
out  of  the  vast  ocean,  there  they  draw  Greenland  and  Italy 
down  towards  their  unknown  home.  Ever  yet  the  stones 
live;  they  lift  up  and  sink  islands,  they  fashion  new  lakes 
and  fill  up  large  streams;  they  pour  fiery  cataracts  from 
lofi;y  mountains  and  bury  whole  cities  under  vast  volumes 
of  ashes.  They  are  ever  active,  and  change,  day  by  day, 
the  very  soil  on  which  we  live. 

Such  were  the  pebble's  earliest  days:  Is  he  not  well- 
born'? But  philosophers  tell  us  that  he  was  born  only 
to  die;  that  life  was  almost  instantly  followed  by  death. 
To  a  certain  point  this  is  true.  As  the  rock  was  the  first 
life  that  came  to  light  from  the  chaos  of  atoms,  so  it  also 
died  at  the  moment  of  birth.  The  life-giving  electric 
spark  was  even  but  a  spark,  and,  its  mission  fulfilled,  it 
vanished.  The  life,  that  was  given  from  without,  that  was 
not  inborn,  could  not  continue.  Now  and  then,  it  is  true, 
fire  breaks  out  anew,  as  if  unable  to  bear  any  longer  the 
bonds  of  death;  but  what,  after  all,  can  it  do  but  lift  the 
coffin's  top  for  a  while?  No  fire  on  earth  can  wake  and 
warm  the  dead  giant  within  to  new  life.  And  yet,  even 
here,  where  death  seems  to  reign  sole  and  supreme,  there 
are  still  mysterious  powers  at  work  that  human  wisdom 
has  but  partly  explained.  Place  finely-powdered  sand  on 
a  glass  plate  and  let  the  clear  mass  give  out  a  high  or 
low  note,  and,  behold !  the  stone,  lifeless,  soulless  stone, 
listens  to  the  harmonious  sound,  dances  and  frolics,  and 


Only  a  Pebble.  11 


ranges  itself  in  wondrous  stars  and  circles.  What  strange 
power  has  the  so-called  Bononian  stone  to  keep  the  rays 
of  the  sun  or  the  light  of  earth-kindled  fire  captive,  and 
to  let  them  loose  again,  long  after  it  has  been  hidden  in 
utter  darkness?  What  gives  the  blood-red  Turmalin  its 
electric  power?  But  electric  currents  pass  even  now,  un- 
seen and  unnoticed,  through  the  heart  of  the  earth,  and, 
under  their  influence,  crystals  arise  and  assume  most 
beautiful  shapes.  Their  forms  are  most  simple,  it  is  true, 
but  so  varied  in  their  very  simplicity,  that  man's  ingenuity 
and  most  fertile  fancy  has  not  yet  invented  a  new  one. 
Nothing  but  straight  lines  are  seen  there,  cubes  and  pyra 
mids,  rhomboids  and  prisms,  but  they  all  glitter  and  glare 
in  strange  brilliancy,  when  a  ray  of  light  illumines  them 
for  an  instant  in  their  dark,  inaccessible  homes. 

And  if  the  stone  itself  does  not  live,  and  labor,  and 
change,  friends  come  from  all  sides  to  gladden  his  silent 
house  and  to  deck  it  with  precious  colors.  In  the  very 
midst  of  the  rocky  world  Jive  the  merrier  metals,  and 
form  a  thousand  delicate  veins,  bright  crystals,  and  tender 
foliage.  Imprisoned  in  the  cold,  hard  rock,  dwell  iron 
and  lead,  gold  and  silver,  now  in  safe  inaccessible  caves, 
and  now  mysteriously  mixed  with  its  very  substance,  as 
if  they  were  lost,  frozen  rays  of  heavenly  light.  There 
they  hide,  buried  in  eternal  night,  and  fancy  they  have 
escaped  all  foes  from  beneath;  but  they  dream  not  of 
the  much  more  dangerous  enemies  who  live  above  them 
and  know  their  secret  chambers,  even  if  they  cannot  look 
down  into  the  impenetrable  darkness  of  the  rocky  world. 
The  bold  miner  digs  and  drills,  and  fearlessly  descends 


12 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


into  the  very  heart  of  the  earth;  there  he  breaks  through 
wall  and  rampart,  and  forces  the  rich  metal  from  its  an- 
cient home  to  toil  an  humble  slave  in  the  service  of  man. 

And  is  there  no  romance  in  the  poor  pebble's  life — the 
only  life  on  earth  that  all  science  of  men  cannot  trace  to 
its  first  beginning  1  The  pebble  was  bom  when  God  made 
heaven  and  earth.  The  same  hills,  the  same  mountains, 
have  covered  the  land  from  the  day  that  man  looked  with 
awe  upon  the  "everlasting  hills."  Nations  have  passed 
away,  and  races  have  vanished  from  among  us,  but  even 
the  pyramids  stand  yet  in  ancient  glory  and  defy  the 
power  of  ages.  The  mighty  empires  of  the  Pharaohs  and 
the  Ptolemies  have  fallen  before  the  enemy ;  the  laws  of 
the  Medes  and  the  Persians,  that  changed  not,  are  for- 
gotten; the  hut  of  the  Arab  and  the  palace  of  the  con- 
queror have  alike  crumbled  into  dust — but  the  unchanging 
rocks  rise  still  high  and  unbroken  from  the  midst  of 
ruins. 

And  yet  even  mountains  are  not  everlasting,  and  rocks 
not  eternal.  What  would  be  their  life  without  a  change, 
and  what  their  existence  without  a  struggle?  Even  the 
poor  pebble  has  thus  a  life  of  his  own,  rich  in  adventure, 
lofty  in  its  character,  and  glorious  in  its  end. 

We  see  the  pebble  only  as  it  lies  sullen  and  silent 
near  the  bank  of  a  brook,  perhaps  amidst  high  luxuriant 
tufts  of  grass  that  grow  in  his  shade,  and  feed  on  his  life's 
marrow.  Around  him,  on  the  overhanging  banks,  stand 
bright-colored  flowers  and  gaze,  with  maidens'  vanity,  upon 
their  image  in  the  crystal  waters  below  them.  All  around 
him  is  life  and  motion.    On  the  wings  of  the  tempest  the 


Only  a  Pebble. 


13 


clouds  above  him  race  up  the  heavens  and  down  again. 
Thick  pearly  drops  of  cooling  rain  patter  from  on  high, 
and  rise  soon  after,  in  clear,  invisible  vapors,  back  to  the 
sunny  height  from  which  they  came.  Untiring  wings  carry 
the  birds  of  heaven  to  their  distant  homes.  Restless 
brooks  rush  in  eager  haste  from  the  snow-covered  Alps 
to  the  sunny  plains ;  broad  streams  pour  majestically  their 
huge  floods  into  the  great  ocean,  and  hasten  with  its  gi- 
gantic waves  around  our  globe.  The  beasts  of  the  field 
wander  from  land  to  land;  nations  and  empires  are  ever 
seen  moving  w^ith  a  strange,  mysterious  impulse,  towards 
the  setting  sun — the  very  trees  and  grasses  of  the  earth 
move  slowly,  in  man's  wake,  from  zone  to  zone. 

The  pebble  alone  lies  still  and  lonely  by  the  wayside, 
and  shuts  his  eyes  not  to  see  the  merry,  w^andering  life 
around  him.  Still,  he  also  had  his  time  when  he  travelled 
far  over  land  and  sea.  High  upon  a  lofty  mountain-peak 
was  his  first  home,  and  there  his  life,  full  of  strife  and 
struggle,  began  in  fierce  war  with  the  elements.  For  there 
is  enmity  betw^een  them  and  the  poor  pebble.  Mild  but 
treacherous  rains  stole  through  cleft  and  crevice  into  every 
pore  of  the  rock,  and  oozed  from  vein  to  vein,  filling  the 
core  of  the  giant  with  indescribably  delicate  and  won- 
drously  ramified  little  canals.  Then  came  hard  winters 
that  froze  the  swelling  veins,  and  sent  sharp  daggers  of 
icicles  into  his  very  marrow;  they  blasted  his  limbs,  and 
rent  them  with  insidious  force  into  fragments.  Balmy 
springs  melted  again  the  thousand  sharp  wedges;  but  al- 
ready the  poor  rock  rejoices  no  longer  in  his  solid, 
massive  strength;  water  and  air  have  drilled  and  bored 


14  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


countless  little  holes  and  channels  through  the  vast  body; 
each  year  snow  and  ice  press  further  and  further ;  the 
very  air,  full  of  destructive  power,  gnaws  at  every  corner 
and  every  edge,  until  the  high-swollen  torrent  at  last 
worries  the  weary  rock  out  of  his  ancient  resting-place, 
and  bears  him  for  a  moment  in  wild  triumph  high  on 
its  roaring,  rollicking  waves.  Or  perhaps  cold,  dazzling 
glaciers,  bright,  niajestic  icebergs,  lifted  him  on  their  broad 
shoulders,  and  carried  him  high  over  wide  plains  or  the 
ocean's  unmeasured  width,  until  at  last  he  fell,  with  a 
fearful  crash,  that  the  splinters  flew  and  the  waters 
foamed.  Even  now  the  heavy  rocks  of  the  polar  circle 
are  carried,  by  the  hand  of  colossal  icebergs,  from  the 
eternal  snows  of  their  home  to  the  sweet  climes  of  the 
equator.  Even  now  the  glaciers  of  Alps  and  Andes  bear 
down  huge  blocks  of  ancient  granite  to  low  meadows  and 
distant  waters.  The  green  waters  of  the  Khine  carry 
many  a  child  of  the  ice-covered  Alps  to  the  fertile  plains 
of  the  Netherlands,  whilst  the  brother  that  was  born  on 
the  same  high  throne,  is  torn  from  his  side  to  wander 
on  the  dark  waves  of  the  Danube  to  the  inhospitable 
shores  of  the  Black  Sea. 

For,  a  fierce,  untiring  leveller,  the  water  wages  incessant 
war  against  the  aristocrats  of  the  earth.  It  gnaws  and 
tears  and  wearies  the  loftiest  mountain  top  season  after 
season,  age  after  age,  and  is  never  content  until  it  has 
brought  him  low,  and  dragged  him  in  spiteful  contumely 
to  its  own  great  home,  the  ocean.  Each  river  has  to 
be  a  faithful,  restless  servant  in  the  work  of  destruction. 
The  Nile  has  created  its  Delta,  the  Rhine  has  formed 


Only  a  Pebble. 


15 


all  Holland ;  before  the  Ganges  and  the  Mississippi  grow 
vast  islands  of  mud  and  sand  far  into  the  ocean.  The 
Po  and  the  Rhine,  like  greater  rivers,  have  even  raised 
their  own  bed,  so  that  they  now  flow  above  the  sur- 
rounding plain,  and  costly  levees  only  can  keep  our  own 
Father  of  Rivers  within  his  natural  bounds.  From  high 
mountains  come  the  unmeasured  stores  of  finely-ground 
stone  that  cover  the  bed  of  the  ocean.  Every  tide  and 
every  current,  that  approaches  the  coast,  brings  on  its 
broad  shoulders  immense  masses  of  sand,  and  heaps  them, 
layer  upon  layer,  until  the  downs  of  some  countries  rise 
to  a  height  of  two  hundred  feet.  It  is  as  if  the  poor 
exiled  stone  longed  to  return  to  its  early  home.  Raging 
and  roaring,  new  tides  and  new  waves  rush  against  their 
own  offspring,  but  the  humble  pebble,  strong  in  union, 
and  hardened  by  the  very  pressure  of  the  waters,  resists 
their  fury,  checks  the  huge  power  of  the  ocean,  and  pro- 
tects proud  man  in  his  possessions! 

Man  hardly  dreams  of  the  fierce,  incessant  warfare  that 
is  waged  against  the  loftiest  mountain  chains  of  our  earth. 
It  is  true  we  see  Alpine  torrents  press  angrily  through 
their  narrow  bed,  half  filled  with  ruins,  we  hear  the  thun- 
der of  mighty  rocks  that  fall  with  the  terrible  avalanche, 
we  know  even  mountain  sides  to  slide  and  to  bury  whole 
towns  under  their  colossal  weight.  The  dweller  in  high 
Alpine  regions  sees,  through  spring  and  through  summer, 
large  stones  suddenly  fly  off  from  the  steep,  smooth  sides 
of  the  highest  rocks,  often  with  such  loud  explosions  and 
so  constantly,  as  to  resemble  the  regular  fire  of  a  platoon. 
The  mountain  shepherd  sees,  year  after  year,  his  pastures 


10 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


encroached  upon  by  masses  of  falling,  crumbling  rock,  and 
the  amazed  traveller  is  seized  with  deep  awe  and  vague 
fear,  when  he  crosses  the  vast  wastes,  covered  with  thous- 
ands of  silent  stones,  with  which  the  elements  have  written 
their  Mene  Mene  in  colossal  letters  on  the  mountain 
slopes.  But  we  are  all  accustomed  to  look  upon  these 
events  as  the  rare  occurrences  of  a  year  or  a  season. 
The  tooth  of  Time  works  slowly,  and  generations  pass 
away,  ere  its  marks  are  seen  by  human  eyes.  The  hand 
of  Him  in  whose  hands  lies  the  fate  of  the  earth,  loves 
not  to  send  plutonic  powers  to  shake  the  mountains  from 
their  ancient  foundations,  and  has  promised  that  there 
"shall  not  be  any  more  a  flood  to  destroy  the  earth." 
But  Alps  and  Andes,  Cordilleras  and  Himalaya  will  fall, 
and  the  eternal  mountains  be  levelled  to  the  ground. 

Our  rock,  hurled  by  his  enemy  from  his  ancient  throne, 
now  lies  in  some  deep,  dark  ravine,  where  night  and  dead 
silence  alone  reign  supreme.  A  giant  block  still,  it  hangs 
threatening  in  boldly  towering  masses  over  the  precipice, 
and,  in  its  sullen,  stolid  wrath,  stems  for  a  while  the  wild 
raging  flood.  Wave  after  wave  falls  back  from  his  strong, 
rocky  breast ;  year  after  year  the  rushing  waters  leap 
yelling  over  his  proud  head,  or  steal  grumbling  and 
growling  past  the  invincible  foe.  But  the  victory  is  here 
also  not  to  the  strong.  Step  by  step  they  push  him 
down  into  the  valley ;  limb  after  limb  they  tear  from 
his  body  and  grind  them  into  fine  sand;  by  day  and  by 
night,  in  winter  and  summer,  they  throw  their  whole  power 
against  him,  until  at  last  he  resists  no  longer  and  be- 
comes "only  a  pebble." 


Only  a  Pebble. 


17 


But  a  sadder  fate  still  awaits  him.  The  roaring  fiiry 
of  a  swollen  torrent  seizes  him  and  carries  him  off  in 
wild  haste.  After  a  fierce  chase  down  the  steep  sides 
of  a  mountain,  he  finds  himself  of  a  sudden  in  a  new 
world.  He  wonders  and  marvels.  He  lies  in  a  smiling 
meadow,  glowing  in  the  golden  light  of  the  sun  and 
decked  with  gorgeous  flowers.  But  alas!  he  cannot  live 
in  a  world  of  light  and  air.  A  thousand  new  foes,  small, 
unseen,  and  unnoticed,  but  all  the  more  powerful,  surround 
him.  Sweet,  prattling  rivulets  play  with  the  new  guest, 
and  too  late  he  finds  that  there  is  poison  in  their  smile 
and  a  dagger  in  each  embrace.  The  very  air,  this  mere 
dream  that  the  eye  does  not  see,  and  the  hand  does  not 
feel,  attacks  him  with  fatal  energy.  It  pierces  into  his 
veins;  it  slips  into  the  tiniest  cleft;  it  loosens  the  sinews 
of  his  structure,  and  gnaws,  with  insatiable  eagerness,  at 
the  very  core  of  his  life.  The  fiercest  of  all  his  enemies, 
called  oxygen,  sows  discord  among  the  imprisoned  gases 
that  hold  the  beautiful  structure  of  the  stone  together. 
Subtle  and  cunning,  it  lures,  first  one  and  then  another, 
from  its  ancient  alliance ;  treacherously  it  draws  them  to 
the  surface,  and  decks  the  unresisting  victim  with  brilliant 
colors  which  conceal  the  certain  destruction  that  is  going 
on  beneath  the  bright  surface.  The  lifeless  mass,  no 
longer  strong  in  union,  begins  to  crumble  into  its  ele- 
ments. New  forces  are  called  to  aid:  electric  fluids 
consume  his  last  force,  and  galvanic  currents  tear  and 
rend  what  has  withstood  all  other  influences.  Utterly 
helpless  and  friendless,  the  poor  pebble  thus  lies  but  a 
little  while  amidst  the  grasses  that  feed  upon  his  very 


18  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

substance.  See,  already  moist-footed  mosses  have  scaled 
up  his  sides,  and,  true  parasites  as  they  are,  cling  firmly 
to  his  dying  body.  Whole  families  of  minute  algae  have 
snugly  ensconced  themselves  in  every  wrinkle  of  his 
weather-beaten  face,  and  diminutive  water-pools  fill  every 
scar  and  every  dimple.  Soon  they  will  have  hid  him  for- 
ever under  the  green  turf  of  his  grave,  and  slowly,  slowly, 
he  will  moulder  away  under  his  moist  grave-clothes. 

And  if  he  does  at  last  succumb,  the  mighty  rock — is 
it  not  a  glorious  strife,  this  never-ceasing  battle  between 
soft,  elastic  water,  and  cold,  rigid  stone  1  How  they  charge 
and  charge  again,  these  subtle,  tiny  drops  of  rain ;  these 
airy,  gentle  flakes  of  snow;  these  graceful  crystals  of  icy 
hail!  The  great  giant  cannot  resist  the  diminutive  dwarfs. 
Truly,  the  battle  is  not  to  the  strong,  for  the  victor  is  the 
weak,  wee  drop  of  water,  and  so  helpless  is  the  colossal 
mountain,  that  it  succumbs  to  the  passing  shower  and  the 
soft,  elastic  wave.  For,  in  fact,  its  very  massiveness  is 
its  sure  ruin.  His  foes  are  light,  airy  beings — he  cannot 
seize  them,  he  cannot  strangle  them  in  his  gigantic  arms. 
The  tiny  brook  wears  its  little  rill  with  untiring  industry 
into  the  rocky  sides  of  the  mountain;  the  torrent  tears 
its  flanks,  spring  after  spring,  with  ever  new  and  ever 
growing  fierceness;  huge  glaciers  break  its  mighty  ribs; 
the  air  crumbles  the  lofty  summit  to  pieces,  and  the 
proud  giant  sees  his  sad  fate  foreshadowed  in  the  ruins 
that  slowly,  but  surely,  gather  at  his  feet.  There  he 
stands,  stern  and  stately  still,  the  hero  of  Nature's  great 
tragedy;  boldly  facing  certain  death,  and  yet  manfully, 
nobly  struggling  against  inevitable  Tate.     For  there  is 


Only  a  Pebble. 


19 


something  peculiarly  tragic  in  the  simple  fact,  that  the 
rock  succumbs  to  the  powers  of  that  same  life  which  he 
first  bore,  first  nourished.  He  gathered  around  his  lofty- 
head  the  waters  of  the  air — and  the  clouds  and  thunder- 
storms which  he  nursed  in  his  bosom  and  bore  many  a 
long  day  on  his  mighty  shoulders,  strike,  like  thankless 
children,  their  sharp  fangs  into  his  side.  Mosses  and 
algae,  that  found  a  safe  home  in  his  thousand  chinks  and 
clefts,  eat  their  way  into  his  substance,  and  caused  his 
rocky  surface  to  decay.  Dark  forests  grew  on  his  ridges, 
and  he  fed  them  age  after  age  with  his  life's  blood — 
but  w^hat  is  his  reward?  They  sport  with  the  vapors  of 
the  far-off  ocean;  they  call  them  and  keep  them  in  loving 
embrace,  or  pour  them  in  fierce  rain  and  destructive  hail 
upon  his  decaying  sides.  The  very  grasses  with  which  he 
loved  to  deck  his  sweet,  fragrant  meadows,  dig  with  spade 
and  auger  into  the  crumbling  stone,  and  consume  layer 
after  layer.  And  when  all  these,  his  graceless  children, 
cannot  conquer  the  mighty  giant,  man  comes  to  their  aid, 
and  with  cruel  machinery,  with  brutal  powder,  he  breaks 
his  iron  limbs,  and  cuts  and  carves  at  his  granite  foun- 
dation. As  the  giants  and  titans  of  ancient  Greece  fell, 
one  by  one,  victims  of  a  higher  power,  in  whose  service 
they  had  won  a  noble  fame,  so  the  very  life  that  the 
rock  created  and  nourished,  feeds  in  turn  upon  him,  and 
Fate  decrees  his  death  through  the  results  of  his  own 
colossal  strength. 

But  there  is  Life  in  Death.  Not  in  man's  inspired 
writings  only,  but  in  every  lineament,  in  every  movement 
of  our  great  mother  Earth  all  around  us,  all  over  this 


20  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

globe,  Death  seems  to  stalk  triumphant.  The  summer 
passes  away,  flowers  fade  and  fruits  decay;  field  and 
meadow  are  buried  in  deep  slumber.  Broad  lands  are 
swallowed  up  by  the  hungry  ocean,  and  gigantic  moun- 
tains sink  to  be  seen  no  more.  But  Death  has  found  his 
conqueror  in  Nature  also.  What  perishes,  rises  again ; 
what  fades  away,  changes  liut  form  and  shape.  Sweet 
spring  follows  winter;  new  life  blossoms  out  of  the  grave. 

So  with  stones  also.  The  poor  pebble  lies  unnoticed 
by  the  water's  edge ;  soft  rains  come  and  loosen  the  bands 
that  held  him  together;  refined,  almost  spiritualized,  he 
rises  with  the  gentle  water-drops  into  the  delicate  roots 
of  plants.  With  the  grass  he  passes  into  the  grazing 
cattle,  and  through  vein  and  artery,  until  at  last  he  be- 
comes part  and  portion  of  the  being  into  which  God 
himself  has  breathed  the  breath  of  life!  And  when  dust 
returns  to  dust,  he  also  is  restored  once  more  to  his 
first  home,  after  having  served  his  great  purpose  in  the 
household  of  Nature — not  to  rest  or  to  perish  forever, 
but  to  begin  again  the  eternal  course  through  death  and 
life. 

But  even  whilst  yet  "only  a  pebble,"  he  claims  our 
attention  as  the  very  Proteus  of  stones,  that  meets  us 
in  a  thousand  ever  new  and  ever  changing  forms,  at  all 
times  of  our  life,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  until  we 
ourselves  return  dust  to  dust. 

Far  below  in  the  vast  deep  of  primeval  mountains  he 
dreams  of  the  gay,  light  life  on  the  sunny  surface  of  the 
earth,  of  strange  forms  of  plants,  and  of  still  stranger, 
free  motions  of  animals.     A  new,  irresistible  impulse 


Only  a  Pebble. 


21 


seizes  him,  and  he  grows  up — who  knows  how? — into  a 
wondrous   crystal,  decked  with   bright    colors,  the  very 
flowers  of  the  subterranean  world  of  stones.    In  lonely, 
silent  caverns  they  light  up  the  eternal  night  with  a  fire 
given   them  long   before  man   trod  upon  earth.  Like 
petrified   sparks  of  light,  here  in   diminutive  littleness, 
there  in  gigantic  size,  they  lie  scattered  about.  Mighty 
rivers  roll  tiny  fragments  to  the  distant  ocean.    In  the 
crystal   caves   of  St.  Gothard,  the  clear,  glorious  rock- 
crystal  grows  in  bright,  polished  pyramids  of  one  to  eight 
hundred  pounds'  weight !     Now  and  then  it  blends  with 
the  gay  colors  of  metals,  and  appears  as  beautiful  topaz, 
binding,  as  it  were,  the  very  smoke  of  subterranean  fire 
in  graceful  stone,  or  as  precious  amethyst,  whose  violet 
crystals  Aristotle  praised  for  their  beauty,  and  because, 
worn  on  the  breast,  they  protected   the  wearer  against 
the  evils  of  drunkenness.     Long  and  slender,  fit  to  be 
the  sceptre  of  the  earth's   sovereign,  the  pebble-crystal 
shines  and  glitters  in  the  mines  of  Hungary;   in  Java 
his  brilliant  splendor  is  humbly  hid  in  loose  sand,  and 
in  our  own  Northern  States  it  adorns  the  common  sand- 
stone with  bright,  beautiful  points.    And  if  you  hold  the 
gay  stone-flower  to  the  light — what  sparkles  in  its  trans- 
parent bosom?    The  crystal  holds  in  loving  embrace  a 
kindred  spirit:  a  pure  drop  of  water  rests  clear  and  bright 
in  its  glassy  prison,  and  dreams  of  the  sister  drops  that 
flit  without  in  eager  haste  and  restless  strife  through  the 
wide,  wide  world. 

There  is  no  form  that  the  pebble  does  not  assume, 
no  company  that  he  despises.    He  is  constantly  changing 


22  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

shape  and  home,  to  join  countless  other  stones,  metals,  and 
earths,  and,  with  them,  to  give  new  life  and  new  beauty 
to  the  unknown  mineral  world.  Invisible,  he  gushes  forth 
in  the  clear  waters  of  hot  springs,  from  the  very  heart 
of  the  earth.  The  burning  geysers  of  Iceland  are  not  too 
hot  for  him;  the  very  craters  of  Kamschatka  afford  him 
a  comfortable  home,  and,  with  strange  pleasure,  he  forms 
a  stony  armor  around  the  tender  stalks  of  graceful 
grasses. 

As  if  he  had  lost  his  way  and  strayed  from  his  path, 
he  is  found  in  chalk-mountains,  far  from  his  kindred,  and 
oddly  shaped  in  the  form  of  flints,  holding  in  his  bosom 
the  power  of  calling  forth  the  hidden  fire  of  metals. 
Everywhere  his  works  are  seen.  Here  he  builds  heaven- 
aspiring  Alps,  with  deep  abysses  and  lovely  valleys ;  their 
lofty  heads  are  buried  in  eternal  ice,  on  which  the  morn- 
ing and  evening  sun  kindles  fires  that  proclaim  the  power 
of  the  Almighty  far  over  land  and  sea;  from  their  sides 
thunder  death-bearing  avalanches  and  furious  torrents, 
whilst  at  their  feet  lie  green  meadows  and  still  waters, 
where  the  weary  love  to  rest.  There  he  raises  huge 
domes,  crowned  with  frowning  forests,  or  he  sends  up,  as 
if  in  sport,  strange,  quaintly-shaped  columns  of  sandstone, 
that  tower  like  enchanted  castles  above  the  plain.  The 
pebble  is  the  true  architect  of  mountains;  it  is  he  who 
built  their  gigantic  pyramids  and  their  mighty  cupolas; 
if  we  descend  to  the  first  stones  of  the  plutonic  world, 
there  is  the  pebble ;  if  we  rise  up  to  volcanic  creation, 
even  there  we  meet  the  despised  pebble.  Again  he 
spreads  himself  out  in  dreary  vastness  over  the  plains 


Only  a  Pebble. 


23 


of  Asia  and  Africa;  he  creates  those  terrible  deserts, 
where  the  tinkling  of  the  camel's  bell  alone  breaks  the 
dead  silence.  There  the  soil  burns,  the  air  glows,  hot 
vapors  alone  seem  to  live.  But  even  here  the  pebble 
tries  to  create  new  shapes.  He  gives  himself  up  to  the 
wild  sports  of  the  winds;  like  a  huge  water-spout  he 
rushes  up  and  down  the  fearful  waste,  or  he  paints,  with 
enchanted  colors,  wondrous  images  of  cool  gardens,  blue 
hills,  and  refreshing  fountains. 

Even  into  the  other  kingdoms  of  Nature  he  finds  his 
way.  He  wrestles  with  the  powers  of  the  earth  and,  after 
conquest,  compels  them  to  serve  him  as  useful  allies. 
Wheat  and  oats,  rye  and  barley,  all  need  a  flinty  soil; 

grasses,  that  feed  our  domestic  animals  and  man  him- 
self, drink  with  their  roots  in  rain  and  spring  water,  large 
quantities  of  dissolved  flint.  It  is  an  humble  and  de- 
spised thing,  the  worthless  straw  and  the  low  stalk  of 
grass;  and  yet  it  surpasses  in  beauty  and  boldness  of 
structure  the  graceful  palm  and  the  storm-defying  oak. 
SI i]y,  slowly,  the  pebble's  tiniest  parts  mingle  with  the 
soft  waters  of  the  earth,  and  ascend,  through  root  and 
radicle,  into  the  heart  of  joyous  plants.  Man  has  no 
lofty  steeple,  the  world  no  proud  pyramid,  that  can  com- 
pare with  the  airy  and  yet  solid  structure  of  the  humble 
blade  of  grass.  Thanks  to  the  little  pebble,  its  hollow 
column  rises  high  above  moss  and  clod ;  its  tower  fills 
story  after  story  with  rich  food  for  man ;  the  rain  cannot 
enter  into  the  safe  chambers;  the  wind  can  bend  but  not 
break  the  elastic  pillar. 

Thus  the  pebble  unites  with  his  enemy,  water,  to  create 


24 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


a  new  world,  and  to  become  itself,  as  it  were,  a  life- 
endowed  being.  He  ceases  to  be  the  rigid,  unbending 
stone;  with  the  tiny  drop  he  enters  into  organic  creation. 
He  feeds  now  as  they  do  upon  the  ethereal  elements  of 
air  and  fire,  and  aids  in  building  up  a  new  kingdom 
of  organic  beings.  Surely,  there  are  sermons  in  stones. 
Was  there  ever  sermon  preached  that  taught  more  clearly 
the  transfiguration  of  even  lifeless  matter,  and  its  resur- 
rection in  a  higher  world? 

The  pebble  spends,  however,  not  all  of  his  creative 
power  on  the  Vegetable  Kingdom  only ;  he  works  in  a 
still  higher  world  also,  and  gives  a  form  and  a  house  to 
millions  endowed  with  animal  life.  When  they  die,  he 
gathers  together  their  abandoned  home  with  wonderful 
care,  and  builds  out  of  minute,  mostly  invisible  shells, 
wide  plains  and  towering  mountains!  Does  this  not  re- 
mind one  of  the  enchanted  princesses  of  Eastern  tales? 
Here  also  there  are  beings,  but  beings  without  number, 
held  in  the  icy  bonds  of  death,  waiting  for  the  day 
when  the  great  word  shall  be  spoken  that  will  change 
death  once  more  into  life,  and  sorrow  into  joy. 

Thus,  through  plants  and  animals,  the  pebble  has  risen, 
ever  brighter,  better,  and  more  useful  in  the  great  house- 
hold of  Nature.  No  longer  a  selfish  recluse,  he  now 
offers  a  brother's  hand  to  other  elements,  and,  with  their 
aid,  he  enters  into  and  builds  up  himself  a  higher  world. 
We  know  that  every  drop  of  our  spring  water  contains 
some  little  atoms  of  the  pebble,  and  plant,  animal,  and 
man,  drink,  all  alike,  with  this  water,  an  indispensable 
element  of  their  life.    Man's  very  body,  it  is  said,  holds 


Only  a  Pebble. 


25 


flint;  he  drinks  it  in  his  water,  and  eats  it  in  his  lentils, 
his  beans,  and  his  cabbage. 

But  even  this  does  not  satisfy  the  pebble's  ambition. 
He  feels  his  longing  towards  light — for  even  stones,  "  the 
whole  creation  groaneth  and  travaileth  in  pain" — not  yet 
satisfied.  He  presses  onward,  upward,  to  the  great  light 
of  heaven,  and,  at  last,  by  a  new  union,  becomes  light 
itself,  bodily,  tangible  light. 

Phoenician  merchants,  we  are  told,  in  days  of  old 
kindled  a  fire  on  the  sandy  shores  of  Africa,  and  built 
a  rude  hearth  of  natron,  with  which  they  traded.  They 
saw,  to  their  amazement,  a  beautiful  mass,  bright  and 
clear,  formed  in  the  ashes.  The  wily  merchants  carefully 
gathered  the  strange  pieces  and — glass  was  invented. 
More  recent  researches  have  discovered  glass  in  the  cities 
of  the  dead  of  old  Egypt,  and,  if  there  is  no  error  about 
it,  even  ancient  Nineveh  already  knew  the  precious  ma- 
terial. 

Thus  the  humble  pebble  became  the  invaluable  medium 
by  w^hich  we  can  let  light  into  the  dark  night  of  our 
dwellings.  The  poor  Esquimaux  still  builds  his  miserable 
hut  like  the  beasts  of  the  field,  darkening  and  closing  all 
apertures,  to  keep  out  snow  and  rain,  frost  and  ice. 
Other  nations  are  reduced  to  thin  layers  of  horn,  which 
allow  a  faint  light  to  sift  through  the  opaque  material, 
but  soon  lose  even  this  transparency  under  the  influence 
of  wind  and  weather.  Better  fares  the  contented  peasant 
of  Siberia,  who  gathers  the  ample  stores  of  mica  around 
his  hat,  cuts  them  into  small  thin  panes,  and  thus  enjoys 
a  doubtful  light,  equally  far  from  the  joyous  brightness 


Leaves  fiiom  the  Book  of  Nature. 


of  day  and  the  sweet,  sleep-bringing  coziness  of  night. 
Few  only  could  be  able  to  afToid  the  costly  luxury  of 
the  so-called  window-pane  niuscle  of  Chinese  waters,  and 
yet  fewer  still  ever  think  of  what  a  true  blessing  the 
little  pebble  is  to  us  in  his  new  form  of  glass !  How 
vastly  superior  is — thanks  to  him — the  poorest  laborer's 
hut  now  to  the  gorgeous  palaces  of  ancient  Rome. 
Neither  the  splendid  mansions  of  her  senators  nor  the 
glorious  temples  of  Athens  and  Memphis  knew  the  cheap 
comfort,  the  simple  beauty  of  glass.  Now,  poor,  indeed^ 
and  wretched  must  be  the  man  who  cannot  invite  the 
cheerful  light  of  day  into  his  humble  dwelling,  and  yet 
keep  storm  and  rain,  wind  and  weather  at  bay.  And  as 
light  comes,  a  welcome  guest,  to  his  hearth,  so  his  eye 
can,  unnnpeded  by  wickerwork  or  wooden  shutter,  as  of 
old,  now  pass  freely  beyond  the  narrow  domain  of  his 
little  home.  It  can  reach  far  and  free  into  God's  beau- 
teous creation,  and  even  the  poor,  sick  sufferer  on  his 
couch  may  gladden  his  eye  with  the  sight  of  green  trees, 
and  his  mind  by  looking  upward  into  the  blue  heaven 
where  his  great  flxther  dwells,  that  will  never  forsake  him. 

It  is  strange,  indeed,  that  the  great  value  of  glass 
remained  so  long  unacknowledged.  It  is  true  that  Phoe- 
nician and  Carthaginian  merchant-princes  gloried  in  their 
large,  brilliant  glass  vases  as  the  costliest  jewels  they 
possessed.  Nero  and  Hadrian  even  yet  counted  them  as 
by  far  the  most  precious  treasures  of  their  palaces,  and 
paid  nearly  half  a  million  for  one.  To  keep  their  rich 
wines  in  glass  and  to  drink  the  generous  fluid  out  of 
glass  was  given  only  to  a  few,  the  richest  of  the  land. 


Only  a  Pebble. 


27 


The  North  of  Europe  appreciated  it  still  more  slowly. 
The  royal  palace  of  rich  England  could,  in  the  year  1661^ 
boast  of  glass  windows  only  in  the  upper  stories;  the 
lower  were  closed  with  shutters. 

Those  Phoenicians  who  first  made  glass,  did  certainly 
not  anticipate  that  they  had  thus  created  a  charm  by 
which  man  would  hereafter  obtain  the  most  signal 
triumphs  in  science.  They  were  pleased  with  its  bright 
coloring,  they  fashioned  it  into  graceful  vessels,  they  shaped 
it  into  a  thousand  forms,  but  they  knew  not  that  a  glance 
through  the  glassy  pebble  would  open  to  their  near-sighted 
eye  the  wonders  of  the  Universe.  With  the  lens  man 
governs  the  M'hole  world.  He  tells  the  rays  of  the 
sun  to  come  and  to  depart  at  his  bidding;  he  scatters 
them  as  he  pleases  and  he  binds  them  together,  until 
their  united  strength  melts  the  very  stone  of  stones,  the 
hardest  of  earthly  bodies,  the  diamond.  Near-sighted  or 
far-sighted,  he  takes  a  glass  and  the  rays  of  light  are 
made  to  fall  where  he  pleases,  so  that  he  may  see  what 
Nature  seemed  to  have  denied  him.  What  a  progress 
is  this  from  the  huge,  unwieldy  glass  globe,  filled  with 
water,  of  which  Seneca  speaks  with  wonder,  and  which  the 
Arab  Al  Hazem  perhaps  already  employed  to  magnify 
small  objects !  Now  the  general  on  the  battle-field,  and 
the  bold  sea-captain  on  the  wide  ocean,  marshal  their 
Avide-scattered  forces  by  the  aid  of  their  glasses.  But 
the  greatest  of  triumphs  it  accomplishes  in  the  hands 
of  the  Astronomer.  The  whole  world  lies  before  him; 
with  one  glance  he  looks  through  unmeasured  space  and 
into  times  unknown  to  man.    The  secrets  of  the  Universe 


28 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


are  laid  open  to  him ;  the  stars  reveal  to  him  the  eternal 
laws  of  the  world,  and  his  mind  is  lifted  up  to  the  In- 
finite. Step  by  step  the  despised  pebble  thus  becomes 
the  teacher  of  mankind.  He  tempts  the  mind  of  man 
from  invention  to  invention,  he  becomes  glass,  lens,  tel- 
escope. And  he  is,  perhaps,  greater  yet  when  he  leads 
man  not  to  the  infinitely  great,  but  to  the  infinitely  small. 
How  diminutive  appears  the  microscope  by  the  side  of 
the  gigantic  telescope  of  Lord  Rosse!  And  yet  who  dare 
say  which  is  the  greater,  the  world  in  the  blue  heavens 
above,  or  the  world  in  the  drop  of  water?  Truly,  the 
pebble  has  become  light  itself ;  it  has  shown  man  two 
invisible  worlds :  the  great,  lost  in  unraeasurable  distance, 
the  small,  lost  in  invisible  diminutiveness.  The  pebble 
is  the  restless  spirit  of  the  world  of  stones,  that  yearneth 
and  travaileth  after  light.  It  enters  the  service  of  man 
and,  a  slave,  it  becomes  his  master.  It  endows  him  with 
unknown  worlds;  it  awakes  in  him  living,  heaven-inspired 
thoughts — surely,  it  is  more  than  "only  a  pebble!" 


Nature  in  Motion. 


29 


II. 


•'"We  sleep  and  -wake  and  sleep,  but  all  things  move; 
The  sun  flies  forward  to  his  brother  sun; 
The  dark  earth  follows  wheeled  in  her  ellipse; 
And  human  things  returning  in  themselves 
Move  onward,  leading  up  the  golden  year."— Tennyson. 

O  vulgar  error  has  perhaps  longer  prevailed  among 


men,  than  that  of  the  permanency  and  immutability 
of  our  globe.  The  world  is  not  at  rest.  The  peace  in 
which  our  mother  earth  seems  to  slumber,  is  but  an 
illusion :  in  all  nature  nothing  is  ever  inactive.  The 
moon  around  the  earth,  the  earth  around  the  sun,  that 
sun  around  another  great  centre,  and  all  the  heavenly 
bodies  in  one  unbroken  circle  around  the  throne  of  the 
Almighty — all  are  in  restless  motion,  treading  their  path 
in  the  great  world  of  the  Lord  and  praising  his  name 
in  never-ceasing  anthems. 

But  even  at  home,  our  own  great  mother  earth  is  not, 
as  many  still  believe,  at  rest,  and  her  very  foundations 
are  every  now  and  then  giving  signs  of  the  mysterious 


30 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


life  which  is  throbbing  in  this  vast  globe.  Meteoric 
stones,  also,  come  like  aerial  messengers  from  distant, 
unknown  spheres,  and  speak  loudly  of  the  life  in  spaces 
unknown  to  human  vision.  For  stones  travel  as  well  as 
life-endowed  organic  bodies;  they  are,  in  fact,  the  very 
oldest  travellers  on  eai'th  of  whom  we  have  any  knowl- 
edge. The  mountains  are  not  everlasting,  and  the  sea 
is  not  eternal.  Thousands  of  years  ago,  rocks  began  to 
shiver  in  the  fierce  cold  of  the  polar  regions;  even 
Sweden  and  Norway,  Greenland  and  Spitzbergen,  became 
intolerable,  and  they  set  out  on  their  great  journey  to 
the  warmer  South.  But  huge,  unwieldy  travellers  as  they 
were,  they  soon  tired  and  rested  awhile  in  the  wide, 
sandy  wastes  which  stretch  through  Northern  Europe  and 
Asia.  Some,  the  large  ones,  remained  there,  bleak,  blasted 
masses  of  rock,  sterile  and  stern,  like  grim  giants  of  dark, 
old  ages.  Their  lighter  companions,  smaller  and  swifter, 
rolled  merrily  on  towards  the  foot  of  mountains,  and 
there  they  also  lie,  scattered  over  the  plains  of  Europe 
and  Siberia.  Science  calls  them  "  erratic"  stones,  the 
people  know  them  as  "  foundlings,"  for  there  they  are, 
like  lost  children,  belonging  to  another  climate  and  a  dif- 
ferent race  from  those  which  surround  them.  When  they 
travelled,  man  knows  not.  It  must  have  been  in  times 
of  yore,  however,  when  the  great  Northern  Ocean  covered 
yet,  with  its  dark  waves,  mountain  and  forest  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  continent.  Other  blocks  travelled  against 
their  will,  packed  up  in  snow  and  ice.  Whole  islands 
of  ice,  we  know,  were  torn  off  by  terrible  convulsions 
from   the   coasts   of  Scandinavia ;    the   storm-tossed  sea 


Nature  in  Motion.  31 

hurled  them  into  her  powerful  currents,  and  thus  they 
were  carried  southward,  bearing  on  their  broad  shoulders 
liuge  masses"  of  rock  that  had  rolled  down  upon  thoni 
from  their  native  mountains.  These  gigantic  guests  from 
the  North  soon  stranded  iigainst  the  mountains  of  the 
continent;  they  melted  under  a  more  genial  sun,  and 
their  burden  fell  to  the  ground.  When,  afterwards,  the 
bottom  of  this  vast  sea  rose  and  became  dry  land,  these 
foreign  visitors  also  rose  with  it,  and  found  themselves, 
with  amazement,  in  a  southern  country,  under  a  southern 
■sun. 

How  long  ago  these  early  travels  were  made  by  rock 
and  stone,  we  know  not ;  but  they  are  by  no  means  at 
an  end.  The  same  process  is  still  going  on,  even  now. 
The  Arctic  still  sends  her  children  out  to  dwell  in  warmer 
climes,  and  year  after  year  sees  wandering  stones  come 
from  high,  icy  regions,  and  tumble  into  the  Atlantic,  or 
strand  on  the  low  shores  at  the  mouth  of  the  St.  Law- 
rence. If  the  bottom^  of  the  sea  on  the  banks  of  New- 
foundland is  ever  to  see  the  sweet  light  of  heaven,  it 
will  be  found  strewn  with  mighty  rocl:s  from  Greenland, 
and  our  children's  children  may  yet  erect  a  monument 
to  the  great  father  of  our  country,  hewn  out  of  Green- 
land stone. 

Other  rocks  are  sea-born.  Lofty  mountains,  now  capped 
with  snow  and  wrapped  in  clouds,  bear  nnmistakeable 
evidence  that  they  once  dwelt  at  the  very  bottom  of  the 
ocean.  Sandstone  blocks,  piled  up  high  mitil  they  form 
large  mountain  chains,  on  which  gigantic  trees  are  deeply 
rooted,  and  the  birds  of  heaven  dwell,  to  whose  summit 


32 


Leaves  fuom  the  Book  of  Nature. 


men  now  painfully  climb  to  look  down  upon  the  sunny 
plain,  were  once  mere  loose,  fragile  sand  down  in  the 
deep  of  the  sea.  They  are  still  mixed  with  countless 
shells,  the  bones  of  fishes,  and  a  thousand  relics  of  their 
former  home.  On  the  other  hand,  we  know  that  large 
tracts  of  seorbottom  once  belonged  to  the  firm  land,  en- 
joyed air,  light,  and  warmth,  and  abounded  with  life  of 
every  kind.  But  the  sea  came  and  buried  them  in 
eternal  darkness.  For  the  ocean,  also,  the  infinite,  is  not 
the  same  to-day  that  it  was  yesterday — it  changes  form 
and  shape  like  everything  else  on  earth.  The  very  heart 
of  the  earth  is  restless.  Its  glow  and  its  pulse  are  felt 
through  the  whole  globe,  and  in  its  gigantic  vigor  it 
seems  ever  anxious  to  break  the  fetters  that  hold  it  a 
captive.  For  the  earth  longs  to  live,  to  live  in  com- 
munion with  the  great  elements  around  it — and  volcanoes, 
with  their  huge,  gaping  craters,  must  serve  to  keep  up 
the  desired  intercourse  between  its  unknown  interior  and 
the  atmosphere.  Fused,  molten  stones  are  thus  dragged 
from  their  hidden  resting-places  in  the  depths  of  the 
earth,  passed  through  fiery  ovens,  and  at  last,  in  fierce 
fury,  thrown  out  of  volcanoes,  where,  as  lava  streams,  they 
soon  become  solid,  fertile,  and  fruit-bearing,  or  form  new 
mountains  on  land,  new  islands  in  the  ocean. 

Even  now,  stones  still  migrate,  thanks  to  their  old 
friends  ice  glaciers  of  vast,  gigantic  size,  that  move  foot 
by  foot.  Their  motion  is  slow  but  sure:  the  glacier  of 
Grindelwald  advances  only  about  twenty-five  feet  a  year, 
but  a  signal-post  fastened  to  a  large  granite  block  em- 
beded  in  the  Unteraar  glacier  progressed  at  the  rate  of 


Nature  in  Motion. 


33 


nearly  a  thousand  feet  annually.  Thus,  stones  travel  on 
the  back  of  icy  waves  from  the  mountaui  top  to  the  foot 
of  the  Alps,  where  they  form  grotesque  groups  and  lofty 
ramparts,  or  lie  scattered  about  on  the  plain,  like  the 
giant  rocks  of  Stonehenge. 

They  have,  however,  one  mode  of  travel  unlike  all 
other  kinds  of  locomotion,  and  so  mysterious  that  human 
science  has  not  yet  fathomed  its  nature.  Large  masses 
of  rock,  namely,  of  truly  gigantic  dimensions,  when  by 
accident  they  fall  into  the  deep  crevices  of  these  glaciers, 
return  with  quiet  but  irresistible  energy  to  the  surface, 
moving  slowly  steadily  upward.  Thus,  not  unfrequently 
vast  pyramids  or  stately  pillars  of  ice,  broken  loose  from 
the  mother  glacier,  are  seen  standing  in  isolated  grandeur 
and  crowned  with  huge  masses  of  stone.  After  a  while 
the  strange  forms  change  and  melt,  the  rock  sinks  deeper 
and  deeper,  until  at  last  it  is  lost  to  sight,  deeply  buried 
in  snow  and  ice.  Yet,  after  a  time,  it  reappears  above, 
and  the  Swiss  say,  the  glacier  purifies  itself  For,  strange 
as  it  seems,  the  glacier  does  not  suffer  either  block  or 
grain  of  sand  within  its  clear,  transparent  masses,  and 
though  covered  for  miles  with  millions  of  crumbling 
stones,  with  heaps  of  foliage  and  debris  of  every  kind — 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  it  is  so  clear  and  pure, 
that  even  the  microscope  fails  to  discern  the  presence  of 
foreign  bodies  in  its  limpid  waters.  What  is  equally - 
amazing  is,  that  whilst  all  weighty  objects,  leaves,  insects, 
dead  bodies,  stones,  or  gravel,  sink  alike  into  the  cold 
bed,  the  organic  parts  decay  quickly  in  the  frozen,  rigid 
mass,  but  the  inorganic  parts  are  thrown  up  again.  Years 
2* 


34  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

ago,  a  horse  fell  into  one  of  these  glaciers;  it  sank,  mark- 
ing its  outline  distinctly,  until  it  was  seen  no  more.  A 
year  afterwards  the  clean,  white  skeleton  projected  from 
the  top  through  the  clear  ice.  In  the  middle  of  the  six- 
teenth century  a  succession  of  long  winters,  during  which 
immense  masses  of  snow  fell,  increased  the  glaciers  so 
much,  that  they  travelled  faster  and  lower  than  usually, 
and  in  their  course  overwhelmed  a  little  chapel  at  the 
foot  of  the  Grindelwald.  All  was  covered,  mountains  high, 
with  snow  and  ice,  and  so  remained  for  years,  buried  in 
ghastly  silence.  But  lo !  all  of  a  sudden  there  appeared 
a  black  ungainly  mass,  high  up  on  the  glittering  field — 
it  was  the  chapel  bell !  Pious  hands  saved  it,  carried 
it  to  a  neighboring  town,  and  there  the  long-buried  bell 
now  rings  merrily  Sabbath  after  Sabbath. 

If  stones  travel  thus  by  the  aid  of  majestic  glaciers 
slowly  downwards,  they  have  to  perform  their  journeys 
from  below  upward  in  much  less  time.  That  fierce  ele- 
ment which  many  believe  to  be  still  raging  under  the 
thin  crust  which  we  inhabit,  breaks  out  every  now  and 
then  through  the  great  safety-valves  that  nature  has  pro- 
vided. Already,  Strabo  and  Pausanias  tell  us  how,  nearly 
three  hundred  years  before  Christ,  the  mountain  Methone 
arose  on  the  Troicenian  plain.  Ovid,  also,  describes,  in 
beautiful  verses,  how  a  high  hill,  rigid  and  treeless,  was 
suddenly  seen  where  once  a  fair  plain  had  been  spread 
out.  He  traces  it  to  vapors  shut  up  in  dark  caverns 
below,  and  seeking,  in  vain,  an  outlet  through  some  cleft. 
The  soil  began,  at  last,  to  heave,  he  says,  and  to  swell 
under  the  pressure  of  the  pent-up  heat,  until  it  finally 


Nature  in  Motion. 


85 


yielded,  and  rose  to  a  lofty  height.  Every  age  has  seen 
huge  rocks  and  large  mountains  appear  thus  unexpectedly 
on  the  surface  of  the  globe.  In  the  last  century,  the 
volcano  of  Jorullo  rose,  in  Mexico,  1580  feet  above  the 
surrounding  plain.  The  sea,  also,  has  its  volcanic  moun- 
tains, which  are  of  a  sudden  thrown  up  from  the  bottom. 
The  famous  island  of  Santorin,  in  1810  still  considerably 
below  the  surface,  was  in  1830  only  a  few  feet  from  it. 
It  appeared  as  an  enormous  peak,  steep  on  all  sides,  but, 
on  the  top,  presenting  the  crater  of  a  sub-marine  volcano. 
The  igneous  nature  of  the  land  below  is  strongly  shown 
by  sulphuric  vapors,  which  rise  so  actively,  that  ships  now 
anchor  there  in  order  to  clean  their  copper  thoroughly 
and  quickly.  Stromboli,  also,  was,  in  like  manner,  sent 
up  from  the  deep,  to  take  its  place  among  the  islands 
of  the  Mediterranean;  and,  although  Italy  is  now  com- 
paratively quiet,  still  its  volcanoes  pour  forth  inexhaustible 
showers  of  burning  matter,  and  temporary  islands  start  up 
now  and  then  from  the  surrounding  sea. 

Tremendous  in  their  birth,  and  gigantic  in  their  effect, 
these  sudden  outbreaks  can  yet  not  compare,  in  their 
permanent  importance,  with  the  quiet  and  almost  imper 
ceptible  migration  of  small  particles  of  sand  and  gravel. 
Large  granite  blocks  and  masses  of  sandstone,  high  on 
lofty  mountain  tops,  are  exposed  to  the  varying  influence 
of  heat  and  cold,  rain  and  snow,  and  crumble,  gradually, 
into  coarse-grained  sand.  Wind  and  weather,  clouds  and 
springs,  carry  this  down,  where  the  restless  waves  of  rivers 
and  streams  seize  it  and  hurry  it  on,  through  vale  and 
valley,  on  their  long  journey,  until,  at  last,  they  reach 


3G  LEAVEri  FROM  THE   BoOIi   OF  NaTURE. 

the  coast,  and  throw  their  burden  into  the  great  ocean. 
Thus,  age  after  age,  the  loftiest  parts  of  heaven-aspiring 
mountains  are  broken  to  pieces,  and  swallowed  by  the 
ever-hungry  sea.  There,  by  their  own  gravity,  and  by 
the  weight  of  the  impending  waters, ,  they  are  pressed 
together,  firmly  and  solidly,  until  they  form  new  rocks, 
which  human  eyes  do  not  see,  and  which,  for  thousands 
of  years,  may  not  be  called  upon  to  take  their  place 
upon  the  dry  land.  So  that,  if  the  ocean  swallows 
mountains,  they,  in  return,  have  their  revenge,  and  fill  up 
the  sea,  slowly  and  unseen,  but  with  unerring  certainty. 
Such  is  the  might  of  small  things  upon  earth. 

Slow  as  this  process  is,  its  effects  are  astounding.  For, 
the  same  abrasion  and  dilution  has  been  going  on  for 
centuries,  and  gigantic  rivers  have  ever  since  poured  their 
contents  into  the  ocean.  Overcoming  all  obstacles,  rush- 
ing, rolling  gaily  down  from  their  mountain  homes,  falling 
over  huge  precipices,  running  past  rocky  ridges,  they 
hurry  on  without  rest  and  ceasing.  Where  do  they  rush 
to,  so  eagerly  ?  Towards  certain  death,  in  the  great 
ocean !  For,  no  sooner  have  they  reached  the  distant 
shore,  than  their  course  is  arrested — here  they  drop  all 
the  solid  parts  with  which  they  were  loaded,  and  thus 
form  themselves  a  barrier  against  their  further  jDrogress. 

These  deposits  form  shoals  and  bars;  they  grow,  as 
year  after  year  brings  new  additions  from  the  far-oflT 
mountains,  until  hills  rise  below  the  surface :  the  river 
has  to  divide,  in  order  to  pass  them  on  both  sides,  and, 
at  last,  the  increasing  sands  appear  above  the  water  in 
the  shape  of  a  delta.    Thus,  new  land  is  formed  by  these 


Nature  in  Motion. 


37 


almost  invisible  particles,  and  how  much  is  thus  dropped 
may  be  seen  from  the  river  Rhone,  which  is  a  thick, 
muddy  stream  where  it  enters  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  but 
leaves  it  a  clear,  beautiful  river.  The  same  process  has 
actually  choked  up  the  mouths  of  the  Ehine  and  the  Dan- 
ube ;  and  the  Nile,  whose  sand-laden  waters  have  literally 
formed  all  Lower  Egypt  with  its  countless  inhabitants 
and  large  populous  cities,  now  needs  a  canal,  made  by 
human  hands,  to  find  a  way  and  an  outlet  to  the  Med- 
iterranean! Our  own  great  river,  the  Mississippi,  be- 
comes, at  its  mouth,  so  slow  and  sluggish,  that  it  can 
no  longer  bear  up  its  burden,  the  immense  masses  of 
huge  vegetable  corpses,  the  giant  trees  from  the  far-off 
regions,  where  its  sources  lie.  They  sink  to  the  ground, 
sand  and  mud  fill  the  interstices  up,  and  they  form,  here 
as  at  the  mouths  of  all  large  rivers,  a  peninsula  of  new, 
firm  land.  The  Ganges,  operating  on  a  still  larger  scale, 
pours  its  gigantic  masses  far  out  into  the  sea :  sweet 
water  being  lighter  than  salt-water,  they  float  for  some 
time  above  the  dark  green  waves  of  the  ocean;  but, 
soon  they  meet  the  tide  and  outside  breakers;  here  they 
drop  their  immense  loads  of  sand,  mud,  and  fertile  soil, 
and,  in  spite  of  an  unusually  high  tide,  form  an  island 
more  than  two  hundred  miles  long. 

The  power  of  locomotion  is,  however,  by  no  means 
limited  to  the  agency  of  water  and  fire  alone.  Much 
more  remarkable  is  it,  that  even  without  volcanic  action 
— without  visible  efforts  or  spasmodic  convulsions  of  our 
mother  earth — whole  tracts  of  land,  thousands  of  square 
miles  large,  should  move  up  and  down,  and,  thus,  ma- 


38 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


terially  alter  the  appearance  of  our  globe.  It  has  been 
said,  that  there  are  few  places  on  earth  which  are  ever 
long  at  rest;  and  that,  as  England,  alone,  has  had  its 
two  hundred  and  fifty-fivc  earthquakes,  so  some  convul- 
sion of  the  kind  is  constantly  occurring,  imperceptible  to 
our  senses,  but  distinctly  felt  and  shown  by  the  delicate 
instruments  which  modern  science  has  invented  for  the 
purpose.  This,  however,  would  not  explain  the  changes 
alluded  to ;  they  are  on  far  too  vast  a  scale  to  be 
ascribed  to  such  local  disturbances.  Almost  in  every 
portion  of  our  globe,  movement  may  be  observed;  the 
land  is  either  rising  or  sinking — certainly  in  slow,  but 
constant  motion.  Geology  teaches  us,  that  this  is  not  a 
whim  of  our  mother  Earth,  but  that,  for  long  genera- 
tions, the  same  change,  the  same  mysterious  motion  has 
been  going  on.  It  is  difficult,  only,  to  observe  it,  be- 
cause of  its  exceeding  slowness,  as  we  would  in  vain 
hope  to  mark  the  progress  of  the  hour-hand  in  our 
watches,  and  yet,  finally,  see  that  it  has  moved.  If  man 
could  ever,  with  one  vast  glance,  take  in  the  whole 
earth — if  he  could  look  back  into  past  ages,  and,  with 
prophetic  eye,  gaze  into  the  future,  he  would  see  the 
land  of  our  vast  continents  heave  and  sink  like  the 
storm  tossed  sea — now  rising  in  mountains,  and  then 
sinking  and  crumbling,  in  a  short  time  afterwards  to  be 
washed  back  into  the  caljTii  impassive  ocean.  Some  of 
these  inexplicable  changes  have  been  observed  for  ages. 
The  whole  coast  of  Asia  Minor,  from  Tyre  to  Alexan- 
dria, has  been  sinking  since  the  days  of  Ancient  Eome. 
Northern  Russia,  on  the  contrary,  has  risen  as  constantly 


Nature  in  MoTibN. 


39 


out  of  the  frozen  sea,  in  which  it  has  been  buried 
since  the  days  when  it  was  the  home  of  those  gigantic 
mammoths  that  are  now  found  there  encased  and  pre- 
served in  eternal  ice,  to  feed  with  their  flesh  the  hungry 
natives,  and  to  furnish  the  world  with  the  produce  of 
strange,  inexhaustible  ivory  mines.  Not  far  from  Naples, 
near  Puzzuoli,  there  are  parts  of  an  ancient  temple  of 
the  Egyptian  god  Serapis  still  standing — three  beautiful 
columns,  especially,  speak  of  its  former  splendor.  At  a 
considerable  height,  they  present  the  curious  sight  of 
being  worm-eaten;  and  recent,  careful  researches  leave  no 
doubt,  that  the  waters  of  the  Mediterranean  once  covered 
them  so  high  as  to  bring  these,  their  upper  parts,  within 
reach  of  the  sea-worms.  Since  then,  the  land  has  risen 
high;  but,  stranger  still,  they  are,  by  a  mysterious  force, 
once  more  to  be  submerged.  Already,  the  floor  of  the 
temple  is  again  covered  with  water;  and  a  century  hence, 
new  generations  of  molluscs  may  dwell  in  the  same 
abandoned  hom^es  of  their  fathers,  which  are  now  beyond 
the  reach  of  the  highest  waves.  An  old  Capuchin  monk, 
who  lives  near  by,  is  fond  of  telling  visitors  how  he, 
himself,  in  his  youth,  had  gathered  grapes  in  the  vine- 
yards of  his  convent,  over  which  now  fisherboats  pass 
in  deep  water.  Venice,  also,  the  venerable  city  of  the 
doges,  sinks — year  after  year — deeper  into  the  arms  of 
her  betrothed  bride,  as  if  to  hide  her  shame  and  her 
disgrace  in  the  bosom  of  the  Adriatic.  Already  in  1722, 
when  the  pavement  of  the  beautiful  place  of  S.  Marco 
was  taken  up,  the  w^orkmen  found,  at  a  considerable  depth 
below,  an  ancient  pavement,  which  was  then  far  below 


40 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


water-mark.  Now,  the  Adriatic  has  again  encroached 
upon  the  twice  raised  square ;  at  high-water,  magazines 
and  churches  are  flooded,  and  if  proper  measures  are  not 
taken  in  time,  serious  injury  must  inevitably  follow. 
Not  far  from  there,  at  Zara,  superb  antique  mosaics  may 
be  seen,  in  clear  weather,  under  the  water :  and,  on  the 
southern  side  of  the  island  of  Bragnitza,  at  calm  sea, 
your  boat  glides  over  long  rows  of  magnificent  stone 
sarcophagi,  far  below  the  clear,  transparent  surflice. 

Trance  also  bears  many  an  evidence  of  such  changes 
in  place.  The  unfortunate  St.  Louis  embarked  at  the 
spacious  port  of  Aigues  Mortes  for  his  ill-fated  crusade; 
the  place — a  harbor  no  more — is  now  at  a  mile's  dis- 
tance from  shore.  Only  in  the  last  century,  in  1752, 
an  English  ship  stranded  near  La  Eochelle,  on  an  oyster- 
bank,  and  was  abandoned.  Now  the  wreck  lies  in  the 
midst  of  a  cultivated  field,  thirteen  feet  above  sea,  and 
around  it  the  industrious  inhabitants  have  gained  over 
two  thousand  acres  of  fertile  land  in  less  than  twenty- 
five  years.  England  presents  similar  instances;  thus,  the 
bay  at  Hithe,  in  Kent,  was  formerly  considered  an  ex- 
cellent harbor ;  it  is  now,  in  spite  of  great  pains  and 
much  labor  bestowed  on  it,  firm  land  and  very  good 
pasture  for  cattle. 

These  gradual  and  almost  imperceptible  changes  of  land 
have  probably  been  most  carefully  observed  in  Sweden, 
where  already,  in  the  times  of  Celsius,  the  people  be- 
lieved that  the  water  was  slowly  withdrawing  from  the 
land.  The  great  geologist  Buch  has  since  proved  that, 
north  of  the  province  of  Scania,  Sweden  is  rising  at  the 


Nature  in  Motion. 


41 


rate  of  from  three  to  five  feet  a  century,  whilst  south 
of  this  line,  it  is  sinking  in  proportion.  Some  villages 
in  southern  Scania  are  now  three  hundred  feet  nearer  to 
the  Baltic  than  they  were  in  the  days  of  Linnaeus,  who 
measured  the  distance  a  hundred  years  ago.  Historical 
evidence  abounds  as  to  this  mysterious  movement  of  a 
whole  continent ;  the  coasts  of  Norway  and  England 
bear,  moreover,  ample  proof  on  their  surface.  Nearly 
six  hundred  feet  above  the  actual  level,  long,  clear  lines 
of  the  former  level  may  be  seen,  distinctly  marked  by 
horizontal  layers  of  shells,  not  of  extinct  species,  but  of 
such  as  are  still  found  in  the  adjoining  waters.  As  we 
go  further  south,,  the  land  seems  to  sink:  all  along  the 
coast  of  Germany  and  Holland  legends  and  traditions  are 
found,  speaking  of  lost  cities  and  inundated  provinces. 
The  Germans  have  their  songs  of  the  great  city  of 
Iduna,  in  the  Northern  Sea,  the  bells  of  whose  churches 
may  still  be  heard,  in  dream-like  knelling,  on  a  quiet, 
calm  Sabbath-day;  and  in  Holland  they  tell  of  the 
steeples  and  towers  that  can  be  seen  in  clear  weather, 
far  down  in  the  Zuyder  Sea.  Stern  reality  shows  that 
these  are  not  idle  inventions;  it  is  well-known  that  great 
cities,  large  islands,  and  whole  provinces  have  actually 
been  engulfed,  and  in  both  countries  man  is  even  now 
incessantly  at  work  to  protect  the  sinking  shore  against 
the  encroaching  waves.  In  Greenland,  the  level  changes 
so  much,  and  the  ocean  intrudes  so  fast,  that  the  Mora- 
vian settlers  had  more  than  once  to  move  the  poles  to 
which  they  moored  their  boats,  nearer  inland.  On  the 
low,  rocky  islands   around,  and   on   the  mainland  itself, 


42 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


numberless  ancient  buildings  have  been  submerged,  and 
for  ages  the  inhabitants  have  ventured  no  longer  to  build 
near  the  sea-coast. 

For  the  sea  also  has  its  strange  motions  like  the  firm 
land — gentle,  progressive  oscillations  which  return  at  stated 
periods,  or  act  with  sudden  force.  In  the  South  Sea,  we 
are  told,  the  bottom  of  the  sea  rises  and  sinks  in  regular 
alternation;  the  same  occurs  near  the  coast  of  Chili, 
teaching  us  by  land  and  by  water,  the  inconstancy  of 
the  present  order  of  things,  and  the  changes  to  which, 
at  great  intervals,  the  outlines  of  our  continents  are 
probably  subject.  Truly  He  alone,  who  is  our  God,  He 
changes  not. 

Thus,  all  is  Iffe  and  motion  in  the  earth,  on  the  earth 
and  around  it.  What  a  source  of  incessant  movement 
is  even  the  sun  alone !  From  the  bottom  of  the  ocean 
it  raises  high  into  the  air  the  rivers  that  are  to  water 
the  two  worlds.  The  sun  orders  the  winds  to  distribute 
them  over  continents  and  islands,  and  these  invisible  chil- 
dren of  the  air  carry  them  under  a  thousand  capricious 
forms  from  land  to  land.  They  spread  them  across  the 
sky  in  golden  veils  and  purple  hangings;  they  raise  them 
into  huge  dark  domes,  threatening  deluge  and  destruction. 
They  pour  them  in  tempestuous  torrents  upon  high 
mountains ;  they  let  them  drop  gently  upon  the  thirsty 
plains.  Now  they  shape  them  in  beautiful  crystals  of 
snow,  and  now  shower  down  pearls  of  peerless  beauty 
in  clear,  transparent  dewdrops.  However  whimsical  their 
service  seems  to  be,  each  part  of  our  globe  receives, 
nevertheless,  jecxv  by  year,  only  its  proper  and  good  pro- 


Nature  in  Motion. 


43 


portion.  Each  river  fills  its  bed ;  each  naiad  her  shell. 
And  the  winds  themselves,  what  busy  travellers  are  not 
they  in  their  own  great  realm  of  the  air !  They  blow 
where  they  list  and  we  hear  the  sound  thereof,  but  we 
cannot  tell  whence  they  come  and  whither  they  go.  A 
merry  life  they  lead,  these  sailors  of  the  air.  Now  they 
chase  golden  clouds  high  up  in  the  blue  ether,  and  now 
they  descend  to  rock  in  merry  sport  gigantic  oaks  and 
Northern  firtrees.  As  pleasant  pastime  they  give  life  to 
wandering  shadows,  wake  the  slumbering  echo,  and  gather 
rich  perfumes  from  the  flowery  meadow.  To-day  they 
bend  down  vast  oceans  of  gracefully  waving  corn-fields; 
to-morrow  they  peep  under  the  branches  of  trees  to  look 
for  golden  fruit,  or  they  strip  them  of  their  leaves  to 
show  to  man  through  their  bare  arms,  the  blue  heavens 
above.  On  sultry  days  they  cool  themselves  in  the  floods 
of  the  ocean,  and  carry  refreshing  dew  back  to  the 
parched  land.  Passing  on  their  manifold  errands,  they 
trace  their  characters  in  a  thousand  ways  on  the  liquid 
plains  of  the  sea.  Some  scarcely  wrinkle  the  placid 
surface,  others  furrow  it  deeply  with  azure  waves,  or  toss 
it  up  in  raging  billows  and  cover  their  crests  v/ith  white 
foam. 

Such  are  evidences  of  motion  in  Inorganic  Nature.  If 
organic  bodies  travel  faster  and  more  visibly,  they  leave, 
on  the  other  hand,  fewer  great  marks  behind  them. 
Rocks,  when  they  wander,  remain  themselves  as  milestones, 
by  which  we  may  count  the  distance  from  which  they 
came.  Men  keep  in  sagas  and  myths  a  certain  hold  on 
the  past,  or  erect,  with  their  own  hands,  monuments  of 


44 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


great  events.  But  plants  and  animals  consist,  at  best, 
only  of  perishing  individuals,  and  have  no  power  given 
them  to  speak  to  future  ages.  What  we  know,  there- 
fore, of  their  wanderings  is  little,  but  even  that  little 
gives  us  such  an  insight  into  the  inner  life  and  motion 
of  Nature,  that  it  is  well  worth  recording. 

Plants  have  ever  travelled  most  and  furthest  of  all 
children  of  this  earth.  Much  has  been  said  and  much 
has  been  written  about  poor  flowers,  these  true  and  gen- 
uine children  of  their  mother  earth,  coming  directly  out 
of  her  bosom,  and  ever  busy  to  draw  from  the  air  of 
heaven  food  for  their  great  parent.  Often  have  they 
been  pitied  because  they  are  chained  to  the  soil,  whilst 
their  own  shadow,  as  in  mockery,  dances  around  them 
and  marks  the  passing  hours  of  sunshine.  Trees  have 
been  called  the  true  symbols  of  that  longing  for  heaven 
which  is  innate  in  man's  soul.  Bound  for  life  to  one 
small  spot  on  earth,  they  are  represented  as  stretching 
out  widely  their  broad  branches,  far  beyond  the  reach  of 
humble  roots,  trying  to  embrace  the  balmy  air,  to  drink 
in  the  golden  light  of  the  sun,  and  to  arrest  the  very 
clouds  in  their  aerial  flight. 

But  in  reality  plants  travel  flir  and  fast.  It  is  true, 
they  perform  their  journeys  mostly  in  the  seed ;  but  there 
is,  perhaps,  no  earthly  kind  of  locomotion  which  they  do 
not  employ  for  their  purpose.  Wind  and  water,  the  beasts 
of  the  field  and  the  winged  creatures  of  heaven,  above 
all,  Man  himself — all  have  been  pressed  into  their  service, 
to  carry  them  from  sea  to  sea,  and  from  shore  to  shore. 
Countless  powers  of  Nature  are  incessantly  at  work  to 


Nature  in  Motion. 


45 


scatter  the  blessings  of  the  vegetable  world  over  the 
nations  of  the  world.  Almost  one-fourth  of  all  plants 
upon  earth  bear  seeds  that  are  provided  with  wings,  para- 
chutes, or  other  contrivances,  by  means  of  which  they 
may  be  carried  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  to  distant 
regions.  Every  brook  and  every  river,  even  a  short-lived 
rain,  carry  a  thousand  plants  to  remote  countries.  The 
great  ocean  itself,  on  its  mighty  currents,  bears  fruits  and 
nuts  from  island  to  island,  and  every  coral  reef  in  the 
South  Sea  is  almost  instantly  covered  with  a  rich,  luxu- 
riant vegetation. 

New  plants  appear  thus  constantly,  where  they  were 
formerly  not  found,  whilst  of  the  disappearance  of  ve- 
getables there  are  but  few  isolated  instances  known. 
Thus,  Egyptian  monuments  have  in  their  quaint  and 
well-preserved  paintings,  three  kinds  of  sea-rose ;  only  two 
of  these  are  now  met  v»'ith  in  Egypt  or  the  adjoining 
countries;  the  third  is  not  found  there  or  anywhere  over 
the  wide  world. 

The  most  efficient  agent  employed  by  plants  for  their 
journeys  is  man  himself  History  and  science  both  teach 
us  that  the  heated  air,  which,  coming  from  the  poles  and 
rushing  to  the  equator,  there  falls  in  with  the  great  life- 
artery  of  the  globe,  and  in  a  constant,  almost  organic 
current  follows  the  apparent  course  of  the  sun  from  east 
to  west,  gives  us  the  direction  in  which  all  life  and 
motion  proceeds  upon  earth.  This  great  movement,  no 
doubt  as  old  as  the  globe  itself,  and  yet  the  last  known 
to  man,  is  still  going  on ;  and  whilst  history  furnishes  us 
with  a  vast  number  of  well  authenticated  facts,  the  pre- 


40 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


sent  day  verifies  and  substantiates  them  more  and  more 
clearly.  All  good  things,  it  has  been  truly  said,  come 
from  the  Orient. 

Plants  also  seem  to  have  their  common  home  in  the 
East,  from  whence  they  have  travelled  and  scattered  in 
all  directions,  far  and  wide.  We  mean  not  to  speak 
here  of  the  first  epoch  in  the  history  of  the  earth,  when 
islands  rose  out  of  a  vast  chaotic  ocean,  covered  with 
plants  w^hich  thence  spread  over  the  globe,  wandering 
from  the  equator  to  the  poles,  and  from  high  mountains 
to  humble  valleys.  We  speak  not  of  the  days  when 
palm-trees  and  ferns  were  buried  under  the  eternal  snows 
of  northern  seas.  Of  those  grand  movements  we  have 
as  yet  too  little  positive  knowledge.  But  we  can  follow, 
in  comparatively  modern  times,  the  migrations  of  some 
plants,  step  by  step,  and  we  always  see  them  travel 
from  the  rising  towards  the' setting  sun.  Coffee  and  tea, 
sugar  and  cotton,  bananas  and  spice,  all  were  first  known 
in  the  far  East,  and  have,  from  thence,  slowly  followed 
the  apparent  light  to  the  West.  Alexander  the  Great 
brought  from  his  expeditions  the  broad  bean  and  cucum- 
ber to  Greece,  and  flax  and  hemp  are  of  Indian  birth. 

Most  important,  however,  for  the  life  of  man,  and  there- 
fore his  most  faithful  companions  in  his  own  great  jour- 
neys, are  the  grasses.  It  is  these  which  mainly  feed  him 
and  domestic  animals.  Tropical  regions  certainly  produce 
the  breadfruit,  cocoanut,  and  date,  which  support  man 
spontaneously  all  the  year  round ;  but  they  are  bound  to 
and  confined  within  small  districts,  and  cannot  be  trans- 
planted.   Providence,  therefore,  has  endowed  some  grasses 


Nature  in  Motion, 


47 


— and  these  the  most  essential  to  man — with  greater 
flexibility  of  structure,  so  that  he  may  carry  them  with 
him  wherever  he  wanders.  He  is,  after  all,  not  the  master 
of  creation ;  ho  cannot  at  will  alter  the  natural  distri- 
bution of  vegetables,  to  suit  his  pleasure  or  to  satisfy 
his  wants.  Hence  he  has  been  compelled  to  choose,  all 
over  the  world,  among  the  four  thousand  varieties  of 
grasses  which  adorn  our  generous  earth,  some  twenty 
kinds  only,  which  will  in  one  summer,  in  a  few  months, 
produce  rich  food,  independent  of  the  dry  heat  of  the 
tropics  and  the  rigid  cold  of  the  North.  It  is  they 
which  mark  the  periods  in  man's  history ;  with  them 
came  everywhere  civilization  in  the  change  from  a  wan- 
dering, pastoral  life  to  the  higher  grade  of  permanent 
agriculture.  Thus,  the  great  phases  of  man's  history  are 
written  also  on  the  green  pages  of  the  vegetable  world. j 
At  a  very  early  period  already  these  cerealia  must  have 
come  from  the  Eden  of  God  into  the  fields  of  man. 
Their  subsequent  path  may  be  distinctly  traced  from 
nation  to  nation,  but  the  unfathomable  antiquity  of  their 
first  culture  is  clearly  seen  in  the  fact  that,  in  spite  of 
the  most  careful  researches,  the  genuine  natural  home 
of  the  more  important  varieties  has  never  been  dis- 
covered. Their  original  source  is  wrapped  in  the  same 
mystery  which  hides  the  first  history  of  those  domestic 
animals  that  have  accompanied  man  all  over,  the  globe 
since  his  earliest  migrations.  They  are,  in  truth,  home- 
less. After  tracing  them  up  through  a  few  centuries,  we 
reach  traditions  and  myths  only,  which  invariably  point 
to  the  gods  themselves  as  the  first  givers  of  these  rich 


48  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

blessings.  In  India  Brahma  descended  from  heaven  for 
that  purpose,  in  Egypt  Isis ;  Greece  owed  the  gift  to  her 
Demeter,  Rome  to  Ceres.  The  ancient  Peruvians  even 
had  similar  legends  about  the  oi'igin  of  maize,  which 
the  bold  Spaniards,  who  invaded  their  ancient  kingdom, 
found  cultivated  on  sacred  ground  around  the  Incas' 
Temple  of  the  Sun,  at  an  elevation  of  12,000  feet  above 
the  sea.  The  ripened  grain  was  solemnly  sacrificed  to 
their  god  or  distributed  among  the  people  who  ascribed 
to  it  miraculous  powers.  But,  setting  these  fables  aside, 
both  tradition  and  history  point  invariably  to  the  East 
as  the  land  from  which  these  grasses  first  came.  Myths 
even  lose  them  on  the  high  table-lands  of  Asia,  where, 
it  has  been  conjectured,  a  late  and  last  rise  of  the  land 
in  distant  ages,  and  a  sudden  elevation  of  mountains  may 
have  scattered  them  so,  that  they  can  no  longer  be  found 
even  in  their  original  fatherland.  Now  they  are  met  with 
only  cultivated  or  run  wild,  and  even  ancient  Sanscrit  has 
no  proper  word  for  them,  but  calls  wheat  already  food 
of  Barbarians,  thus  indicating  its  Northwestern  origin. 

Not  all  nations,  however,  can  lay  equal  claim  to  the 
distribution  of  these  noble  gifts  of  nature.  It  is  the 
Caucasian  races  alone  who  have  caused  the  migrations 
of  the  most  important  plants  from  their  original  home, 
wherever  that  may  be,  to  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe. 
Europeans  have,  by  degrees,  transplanted  to  their  own 
land  all  the  characteristic  plants  of  other  races.  They 
have  fetched  the  finer  fruits,  the  almond,  apricot,  and 
peach,  from  Persia  and  Asia  Minor;  they  have  brought 
the  orange  from  China,  transplanted  rice  and  cotton  to 


Nature  in  Motion. 


49 


the  shores  of  the  IMediterranean,  and  carried  maize  and 
potatoes  from  America  to  Europe.  But  the  influence  of 
these  races  in  changing  the  natural  distribution  of  plants 
is  even  more  evident  in  the  colonies  which  they  have 
established  abroad.  These  they  have  endowed  not  only 
with  their  own  vegetables,  but  also  with  those  which  w^ould 
not  flourish  in  Europe,  but  might  thrive  in  more  favored 
regions.  Thus  we  find  all  European  corn-plants  in  every 
part  of  America;  the  vine  has  been  carried  to  Madeira 
and  the  Canaries,  to  the  southern  parts  of  Africa,  and 
America, ;  rice  and  cotton  are  raised  in  vast  quantities 
m  the  United  States  and  in  Brazil ;  nutmeg  and  clove 
have  found  their  way  to  Mauritius,  Bourbon,  and  the  "West 
India  Islands,  and  tea  is  now  cultivated  in  Brazil,  India, 
and  Java.  Other  races  have  done  but  little;  the  Arabs 
helped  to  difl'use  cotton,  which  the  ancients  already  knew 
in  India,  and  later  in  Egypt,  coffee,  sugar,  and  the  date- 
palm  ;  the  Chinese  have  imported  cotton  from  Hindostan, 
and  the  Japanese  tea  from  China. 

The  earliest  grains  known  in  Europe  were  undoubtedly 
wheat  and  barley,  although  even  the  oldest  authors  are 
at  variance  as  to  their  first  home.  Charred  grains  of 
both  are  found  in  Pompeii,  and  pictures  on  the  walls 
of  the  silent  city  show  quails  picking  grains  out  of  a 
spike  of  barley.  The  Bible,  Homer,  and  Herodotus,  al- 
ready mention  them  as  widely  diffiised,  and  Diodorus 
Siculus  even  speaks  of  the  belief  entertained  by  many, 
that  wheat  grew  wild  in  the  Leontine  fields  and  several 
other  places  in  Sicily.  So  certain  is  it  that  antiquity 
itself  was  at  a  loss-  where  to  fix  the  original  abode  of 


50 


Leaves  fkom  the  Book  of  Nature. 


these  grasses;  all  references,  however,  point  to  India,  and 
yet  Humboldt  tells  us,  that  the  varieties  there  found  in 
our  day  bear  unmistakable  evidence  that  they  were  once 
cultivated,  and  have  but  recently  become  outcasts.  The 
Spaniards  carried  wheat  to  North  America;  a  negro  slave 
of  the  great  Cortes  was  the  first  who  cultivated  it  in 
New  Spain,  beginning  with  three  grains  which  he  had  ac- 
cidentally found  among  the  rice  brought  out  as  provisions 
for  the  army.  At  Quito,  they  show  to  this  day,  in  a 
Franciscan  convent,  the  earthen  vessel  which  had  con- 
tained the  first  wheat  sown  there  by  a  monk,  a  native 
of  Flanders,  in  front  of  his  convent,  after  cutting  down 
the  original  forest.  The  great  Humboldt  says,  justly,  in 
connection  with  this  fiict :  "  Would  that  the  names  had 
been  j)reserved,  not  of  those  who  made  the  earth  desolate 
by  bloody  conquests,  but  of  those  who  intrusted  to  it  first 
these,  its  fruits,  so  early  associated  with  the  civilization 
of  mankind."  Barley,  which  Homer  mentions  as  the  food 
of  his  heroes'  horses,  has  at  least  this  merit,  that  it  is 
the  most  widely  spread  of  all  the  nutritious  grasses.  It 
is  known  from  the  utmost  boundary  of  culture  in  Lap- 
land down  to  the  elevated  plains  near  the  equator. 

At  a  much  later  period,  rye  was  brought  to  Europe; 
at  the  time  of  Galenus  it  found  its  way  through  Thracia 
into  Greece,  and  Pliny  speaks  of  it  as  having  been 
brought  from  Tauria  by  Massilian  merchants;  in  his  day 
it  was  occasionally  met  with  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Turin.  Serbian  Wendes  brought  it,  in  the  seventh  cen- 
tury to  Germany,  where  Charlemagne  at  once  distinguishe  1 
its  great  importance,  and  wisely  encouraged  its  culture, 


Nature  m  Motion. 


51 


so  that  it  soon  spread  over  the  continent,  and  now  sus- 
tains  at  least  one-third  of  its  inhabitants.  This  grass 
also  was  apparently  found  growing  wild  in  the  Caucasus, 
but  more  careful  observations  have  since  shown  that  the 
presumed  originals  were  a  different  species :  their  stems 
were  so  brittle  that  they  could  not  be  threshed.  More 
recently  still,  oats  were  brought  to  Europe  from  the 
East,  and  whilst  in  Greece  they  were  only  used  as  green 
fodder,  Pliny  already  represents  the  Germans  as  living 
upon  oat  groats,  a  dainty  which  they  have  by  no  means 
abandoned  since. 

Rice  seems  at  a  very  early  period  of  European  history 
to  have  acquired  no  small  importance  among  the  more 
widely  diffused  grasses.  Hence  we  can  more  easily  follow 
its  gradual  migrations  from  its  home  in  India,  to  which, 
even  the  Sanscrit  name  Vri  points,  and  where  the  Danish 
missionary,  Klein,  believes  that  he  found  it  growing  wild, 
to  various  parts  of  the  world.  In  the  East,  we  know, 
it  was  from  the  times  of  antiquity  the  principal  article 
of  food;  at  the  time  of  Alexandar  the  Great  it  was 
cultivated  as  far  as  the  lower  Euphrates,  and  from  thence 
it  was  carried  to  Egypt.  The  Romans  do  not  seem  to 
have  known  it.  The  Arabs,  however,  brought  it,  after 
their  great  conquests  in  Africa,  Sicily,  and  Spain,  to 
Southern  Europe.  North  America  knows  it  only  since 
the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  but  produces  now  a 
large  proportion  of  all  the  rice  consumed  in  the  Old 
World. 

The  New  World  claims  maize  alone  as  its  own  in- 
digenous product  among  the  nutritious  grasses.    But  even 


52 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


this  is  not  allowed  witnout  some  opposition.  Thcophrastus 
speaks  of -a  certain  peculiar  wheat,  with  grains  of  the  size 
of  an  olive  kernel,  which  came  from  India ;  and  many 
believe  that  this  cannot  have  been  anything  else  but 
maize.  They  try  to  strengthen  their  position  by  the  fact, 
that  not  one  of  the  many  carefully  searching  travellers  in 
America  has  CTcr  yet  found  maize  growing  otherwise 
than  cultivated  or  evidently  run  wild.  Its  names  in 
European  languages  certainly  refer  it  to  the  East.  Ger- 
many and  Italy  call  it  "  Turkish  wheat,"  and  the  Greeks 
also  point  with  their  "Arabic  wheat,"  to  an  Oriental 
home. 

It  is  almost  cruel  not  to  allow  this  continent  the  merit 
of  being,  at  least,  the  original  home  of  the  potato,  as  is 
generally  believed.  It  was  said  to  grow  wild  in  Peru, 
Chili,  and  Mexico,  but  learned  botanists  and  careful  obser- 
vers have  since  ascertained  that  the  tuber  there  found  is 
not  the  common  parent,  but  only  a  different  species  of 
the  numerous  genus  to  which  the  potato  belongs.  An- 
other curious  evidence  is,  that  in  Mexico  itself,  only  quite 
recently,  attempts  have  been  made  along  the  coast  to 
raise  potatoes,  mainly  for  the  purpose  of  giving  to  Eu- 
ropeans in  the  so-called  home  of  that  most  useful  plant, 
the  flivorite  vegetable  of  their  own  mother  country.  But 
alas!  they  have  stoutly  refused  to  grow  any  longer  in  the 
presumed  land  of  their  fathers,  and  every  effort  has,  so 
flir,  signally  failed. 

As  every  great  good  has  its  necessary  evil,  and  as  every 
army  of  brave  soldiers  is  almost  inevitably  followed  by 
crowds  of  stragglers  and  robbers,  so  man  also  has  been 


Nature  in  Motion. 


53 


compelled  to  take  along  with  these  eminently  useful 
grasses  their  inseparable  companions,  a  whole  rabble  of 
weeds,  thorns,  and  thistles.  Most  of  these,  as  now  found 
in  our  fields,  came,  without  doubt,  with  the  cerealia.  In 
still  larger  numbers,  however,  and  without  the  agency  of 
man,  certain  other  plants  attach  themselves  to  the  lord 
of  creation  and  follow  him  wherever  he  goes,  and  builds 
himself  huts.  These  seem  not  to  be  bound  to  their 
kinsfolk,  the  grains  and  grasses,  but  to  man's  own  im- 
mediate home ;  they  settle  with  never-failing  punctuality 
around  his  house,  near  to  his  stable,  or  luxuriate  on  his 
dunghill.  Travellers  can  thus  trace,  as  the  celebrated 
Augustin  St.  Hilaire  did  in  Brazil,  by  the  mere  presence 
of  weeds,  even  in  the  midst  of  a  desert,  the  place  of 
abandoned  and  utterly  destroyed  settlements.  Stranger 
still  is  it,  that  the  different  races  of  men  have  different 
kinds  of  weeds  following  in  their  wake,  so  that  a  careful 
observer  can,  in  travelling,  see  at  once,  by  merely  no- 
ticing the  prevailing  weeds,  w^hether  Europeans  or  Asiatics, 
Germans  or  Slaves,  Negroes  or  Indians,  have  dwelt  at 
certain  places.  It  was  not  without  good  reason,  then, 
that  some  of  our  Indian  tribes  called  the  common  plain- 
tain  in  their  language  "  the  white  man's  footstep ;"  a 
simple  but  distinct  vetch  marks  in  like  manner,  even  now, 
long  after  the  entire  abandonment  of  the  land,  the  for- 
mer dwelling  places  of  Norwegian  colonists  in  Greenland. 
Historians,  also,  may  thus  learn  yet  many  a  lesson,  even 
from  weeds,  as  to  the  direction  and  length  of  the  great 
migrations  of  the  human  race.  One  of  the  most  remark 
able  instances  of  the  kind  is  perhaps  the  almost  univerPAl 


54  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

dispersion  of  the  deadly  night-shade.  It  came  at  first 
from  India,  whence  gipsies  carried  it  over  the  wide  world, 
making  constant  use  of  its  medicinal  virtues  and  vices. 
They  always  kept  it  on  hand,  and  even  raised  it  around 
their  encampments,  and  thus  it  followed  their  trace  from 
the  far  east  to  the  far  west. 

One  peculiar  effect  of  this  migration  in  masses  is,  that 
certain  plants,  first  introduced  by  man,  have  subsequently 
become  so  generally  diffused,  independent  of  his  agency, 
as  to  displace,  in  some  instances,  the  whole  original  flora 
of  a  country.  The  rich  pampas  of  South  America  have 
thus  been  overrun  with  the  artichoke  and  peach-tree  of 
another  continent ;  immense  tracts  are  now  covered  with 
these  intruders  from  abroad,  and  rendered  useless  as  pas- 
tures. Even  islands  have  not  escaped  this  fate.  In  St. 
Helena,  original  plants  have  almost  entirely  disappeared, 
and  made  room  for  those  w^hich  have  been  brought  there 
from  Europe  and  Asia.  In  eastern  China  the  population 
is  so  dense,  and  the  culture  of  the  soil  so  high,  that, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  water-plants  in  skilfully- 
flooded  rice-fields,  all  the  plants  which  originally  grew 
wild  there,  have  been  driven  out.  The  whole  land  is  now 
exclusively  covered  with  grains  raised  by  the  hand  of 
man,  and  the  botanist  finds,  in  the  lowlands  at  least,  not 
a  single  plant  which  is  not  artificially  cultivated. 

Some  plants  thus  literally  conquer  a  country  and  banish 
the  native  inhabitants ;  others  disappear,  not  before  ene- 
mies of  their  own  race,  but  emigrate  because  of  climatic 
changes.  Palestine,  which  was  once  a  land  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey,  where  the  grape  and  the  date  abounded, 


Nature  in  Motion. 


55 


is  now  utterly  sterile.  The  spoiler  is  fallen  upon  her 
summer  fruit  and  her  vintage ;  joy  and  gladness  are  taken 
from  the  plentiful  field,  and  her  plants  are  gone  over 
the  sea.  Our  common  clover  has  distinctly  marked  its 
travelling-stations;  requiring  much  moisture,  it  leffc  Greece 
when  her  plains  were  scorched  and  withered  ;  Italy  could 
not  hold  it,  after  repeated  devastations,  when  it  made  its 
way  into  Southern  Germany;  from  thence  it  is  even  now 
gradually  wandering  towards  the  moister  regions  of  the 
North.  No  Pythagoras  need  forbid  his  disciples  now  the 
use  of  the  bean,  for  Egypt  is  no  longer  able  to  produce 
it.  The  wine  of  Mareotis  also,  that  inspired  the  guests 
of  Cleopatra,  and  whose  praises  Horace  has  sung  in  such 
graceful  verses,  grows  no  more.  The  conscience-stricken 
murderer  would  find  no  shelter,  in  our  day,  in  the  pine- 
forests  of  Poseidon,  where  to  lie  in  wait  for  the  guests 
that  wandered  joyfully  to  the  great  festivals  of  Greece ; 
the  pines  have  long  since  left  the  plain,  with  its  hot,  dry 
climate,  and  moved  up  to  the  cooler  mountains. 

It  need  hardly  be  added,  that  all  the  finer  fruits,  also, 
have  come  to  us  from  the  East.  The  precious  grape, 
the  cooling  cherry,  the  pomegranate  and  the  peach,  in  fine 
all  the  luscious  gifts  of  Autumn,  we  owe  to  the  Orient. 
Italy  is  not  originally 

"The  land  where  the  lemon-tree  blows, 
In  darker  leaves  bowered  the  gold  orange  glows," 

for  Seville  oranges  and  lemons  came  to  Europe  only 
through  the  Arabs.  The  latter  are  not  even  found  on 
the  walls  of  Pompeii,  and  the  common  orange,  which  is 


56 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  JNature. 


a  Chinese  by  birth,  was  brought  to  Europe  first  by  bold 
Portuguese  sailors. 

In  Europe,  these  fruits  lingered  a  while,  were  remodelled 
from  their  first  rough  shape,  developed  and  refined,  and 
then  sent,  ennobled  in  shape  and  quality,  across  the  broad 
Atlantic.     Here  they  have  rapidly  spread  from  State  to 
State,  and  are  even  now  on  their  way,^  through  California, 
back  to  their  original  home.    The  day  may  not  be  fiir 
distant,  when  the  youthful  Union,  which  has  already  given 
grain  back  to  starving  Ireland,  and  loads  the  tables  of 
the  English  with  the  finest  apples  the  world  knows,  may 
send  its   grapes   and   unsurpassed   nectarines   to  ancient 
Persia,  from  whence  Europe  received  the  hard,  unflavored 
peach.     Strange  it  is,  that  as  Europe  has  never  returned 
any  similar  gifts  for  the  many  presents  it  has  received 
from   the   East,  so  America  also  has  given  to  Europe 
nothing   in   return   for   her   many  kindnesses.     For  the 
whole  rich  blessing  of  our  grain  harvest,  for  the  whole- 
some  rice,  the   profitable    cotton,  for   sugar   and  spice, 
oranges  and  pomegranates,  all  of  which  we  owe  to  the 
Old  World,  we  have  sent  back  but  two  rather  equivocal 
gifts.     For  smokers  alone  will  be  disposed  to  think  the 
introduction  of  tobacco  a  real,  valuable  present.    A  plant 
which  affords  no  edible  root,  fruit,  or  other  nutritious  part, 
distinguished  neither  by  beauty  nor  by  sweet  odor ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  by  a  disagreeable  smell  and  taste  ;  which 
produces,  when  eaten,  nausea,  vomiting,  and  giddiness,  and 
is,  in  large  quantities  or  concentrated,  even  deadly  poison 
— such  a  plant  is  surely  at  least  a  doubtful  gift.    So  it  is 
with  the  potato,  which  has  long  been  considered  by  its 


Nature  in  Motion. 


57 


enthusiastic  admirers  an  incomparably  rich  gift  of  the 
West  to  the  East,  but  which  now  might  easily  be  looked 
upon  as  the  fatal  ft'uit  marking  in  the  annals  of  history 
the  first  decline  of  European  nations. 

But  even  tobacco  is  not  accepted  as  a  ^  Western  gift 
by  all  botanists.  Although  it  is  said  that  the  Spaniards 
found  it  used  in  Mexico  medicinally,  especially  in  the 
treatment  of  wounds,  and  saw  it  smoked  there,  as  the 
English  did  in  Virginia,  still  it  was  certainly  known  as 
early  as  1601  in  Java  and  China,  and  there  is  good  rea- 
son to  believe  at  an  even  earlier  date  in  China.  Now, 
as  tobacco  did  not  reach  Europe  before  1559,  when  it 
was  first  used  in  Portugal — and,  consequently,  in  Europe — ■ 
as  medicine,  it  may  at  least  have  been  known  in  Eastern 
Asia  long  before  the  discovery  of  America.  Nature, 
moreover,  seems  almost  desirous  to  avenge  the  unnatural 
movement  from  west  to  east  by  the  rapid  degeneration 
which  marks  the  culture  of  both  these  vegetables  in 
Europe.  But  even  if  maize  really  came  from  this  con- 
tinent first,  if  the  Indian  fig  and  the  closely  related  agave, 
which  now  grow  wild  around  the  Mediterranean  and  add 
so  much  to  its  picturesque  scenery,  have  their  true  home 
in  the  New  World,  these  two  plants  would  still  be  the 
only  ones  that  have  ever  travelled  eastward,  single  and 
isolated  exceptions  to  the  great  law  of  Nature,  that  plants, 
animals,  and  men,  all  must  travel  towards  the  setting  sun. 

This  mysterious  but  undeniable  movement  is  still  going 
on.    It  proceeds,  even  in  our  day,  on  a  grand  and  im- 
posing scale,  and  essentially  alters,  from  time  to  time,  the 
vegetable  character  of  whole  countries,  as  they  are  newly 
8* 


58  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

discovered  or  newly  settled.  It  shows  us  in  indelible 
signs  the  silent,  irresistible  force  with  which  humble  plants 
prescribe  their  path  on  earth  to  both  the  animals  that 
feed  us  and  the  different  races  of  men.  For  such  is  the 
•  strange  relation  between  plants  and  man :  they  are  of 
paramount  importance  for  his  existence  not  only,  but  also 
for  his  welfare.  It  is  little  to  say  that  they  feed  and 
clothe  him,  and  that  they  enable  him  to  sustain  the  life 
of  those  animals,  from  whom  he  receives  in  return  not 
only  food  and  comfort,  but,  what  is  incomparably  more 
valuable,  service,  affection,  and  gratitude!  The  cerealia 
have  become  the  first,  and  most  binding  social  tie  between 
men,  because  their  culture  and  preparation  require  vast 
labor  and  mutual  service.  As  no  society,  moreover,  can 
exist  without  laws,  it  may  well  be  said,  that  these  short- 
lived grasses  are  in  truth  the  first  cause  of  all  legisla- 
tion. Not  without  good  reason,  then,  was  it  that  the 
Romans  called  their  Ceres  not  only  a  goddess,  but  also 
a  legislator. 

To  the  careless  observer,  animals  seem  to  be  as  per- 
manent features  in  Nature  as  plants.  Apparently  the 
same  sparrow  picks  up  grains  of  wheat  in  the  harvest- 
field  that  robbed  our  cherries  in  early  summer,  and  the 
same  game  which  our  forefathers  hunted,  tempts  us  now 
in  field  and  forest. 

It  is,  however,  not  so.  The  demoralized  domestic  an- 
imals, it  is  true,  are  nearly  the  same  now  that  they  ever 
were ;  the  same  sheep  of  whom  "  Abel  was  a  keeper," 
sleep  night  after  night  on  our  pastures,  and  the  "cattle 
on  a  thousand  hills"  rove  now  on  our  plains.     But  all 


Nature  in  Motion. 


59 


nobler,  higher  life  among  animals,  moves  restlessly  round 
the  globe.  Here  also  there  is  an  incessant  going  and 
coming,  flying  and  pushing,  an  endless  change  of  home, 
to  exchange  a  used-up  past  for  a  promising  future. 

No  class  of  animals,  high  or  low,  escapes  entirely  the 
general  law  of  movement,  and  if  we  read  occasionally  of 
flights  of  storks  and  shoals  of  herrings,  these  are  mere 
anecdotes,  nothing  but  single,  detached  features  of  that 
unwearied  life  which  m^oves  in  grand  and  restless  masses 
round  the  terrestrial .  globe. 

Of  the  earliest  migrations  of  animals,  even  of  those 
whom  man  has  bound  up  with  his  own  existence,  we 
know  but  very  little.  History,  which  tells  us  nothing  of 
man's  own  first  journeys,  condescends  not  to  speak  of 
beings  less  noble.  We  guess,  rather  than  we  know,  that 
the  domestic  animals  at  least  left  their  common  home 
in  the  great  centre  of  all  earthly  life.  Upper  India,  to- 
gether with  the  first  migrating  nations.  We  conclude  this 
mainly  from  the  fact  that  the  races  of  men  separated  at 
a  time  when  they  were  all  shepherds.  This  we  know 
from  Language ;  for  in  all  idioms  the  words  relating  to 
pastoral  life  are  cognate  words,  whilst  in  other  respects 
the  relationship  is  far  more  complicated  and  difficult  to 
trace.  A  remarkable  instance  of  this  connection  is  the 
word  "daughter"  in  German,  "  tochter,"  from  the  Greek 
■dvyarrip,  which  is  in  Sanscrit  "  duhitri,"  and  there  means 
"milking  woman,"  because  we  know  that  it  was  the  cus- 
tom  of  all  pastoral  nations  to  leave  the  milking  of  the 
herd  to  the  daughter  of  the  owner.  The  animals  them- 
selves maintain  a  certain  connection  with  their  first  home 


GO 


Leaves  from  'mt  Book  of  Nature. 


on  earth,  for  most  of  them  have  still  some  wild  rela- 
tions on  the  high  table  lands  of  Middle  Asia,  where,  in 
primitive  fierceness,  strength,  and  beauty,  they  rove  about, 
and  race  for  hundreds  of  miles  along  the  valleys  to  ex- 
change exhausted  lands  for  new  rich  pastures. 

Animals,  like  plants,  travel  occasionally  by  means  of 
the  various  agents  whom  nature  herself  places  at  their 
disposal.  The  giant  rivers  of  the  earth,  the  Ganges, 
Congo,  Amazon,  Orinoco,  and  Mississippi,  annually  float 
islands  towards  the  ocean,  covered  with  living  inhabitants. 
Nothing  is  more  common  than  to  meet  out  at  sea,  thous- 
ands of  miles  from  all  land,  masses  of  fucus  floating  on 
the  surface  of  the  water,  and  serving  as  a  resting-place 
for  small  shell-fish,  unable  to  'transport  themselves  by 
swimming,  far  from  their  native  shore.  Off  the  Moluccas 
and  Philippines,  sailors  often  meet,  after  a  typhoon,  with 
floating  islands  of  matted  wood,  full  of  life,  and  covered 
with  large  trees,  so  as  to  deceive  their  eyes,  and  to  en- 
danger the  safety  of  their  vessels.  Trunks  of  trees,  also, 
are  found  drifting  in  the  great  currents  of  the  ocean, 
perforated  from  end  to  end  by  the  larvie  of  insects,  and 
filled  with  the  eggs  of  molluscs  and  fishes.  At  other 
times  they  have  been  known  to  convey  lizards  and  birds 
from  land  to  land,  and  on  the  island  of  San  Vincent 
there  appeared  once  a  huge  boa  constrictor,  twisted  around 
a  large,  healthy  cedar-tree,  with  which  it  had  been  torn 
from  its  home  in  the  primeval  forests  of  Brazil.  It 
swallowed  several  sheep  before  it  could  be  killed  by  the 
astonished  natives.  The  gulf-stream,  it  is  well  known, 
carried,  more  than  once,  dead  bodies  of  an  unknown  race 


Nature  in  Motion. 


61 


with  unusually  broad  faces,  to  the  Azores,  and  thus  con- 
tributed to  the  discovery  of  our  continent  by  confirming 
Columbus  in  his  faith  in  the  existence  of  a  New  World. 
Greenlanders  and  Esquimaux  have  even  been  carried  alive 
across  the  Atlantic,  and  found  themselves,  to  their  amaze- 
ment, on  the  coast  of  England. 

Nor  are  these  always  individual  journeys.  Currents  of 
air  carry  myriads  of  vegetable  seeds,  and  with  them  count- 
less eggs  of  insects  and  infusoria  all  over  the  world.  To 
settle  this  formerly  disputed  question,  a  German  philoso- 
pher, linger,  placed  several  plates  of  glass,  carefully 
cleaned,  between  the  almost  air-tight  double  sashes  with 
which  he  protected  his  study  against  the  rigors  of  a  fierce 
northern  climate.  Six  months  later,  he  took  them  out 
and  examined  the  dust  that  had  fallen  on  them  through 
imperceptible  cracks  and  crevices,  with  the  microscope. 
The  result  was,  that  he  discovered,  in  the  apparently  in- 
organic dust,  the  pollen  of  eight  distinct  plants,  the  seeds 
of  eleven  varieties  of  fungus,  the  eggs  of  four  higher  in- 
fusoria, and  living  individuals  of  at  least  one  genus  ! 

But  larger  animals  also  are  thus  carried  about  by  as 
yet  little  known  modes  of  conveyance.  There  exist,  among 
others,  countless  examples,  from  the  oldest  times  to  our 
own,  of  mice  and  rats,  insects,  fishes,  and  reptiles  being 
carried  off  by  storms  and  whirlwinds  far  from  home. 
Only  a  few  years  ago,  a  long  and  violent  rain  in  the 
heart  of  France  brought  with  it  millions  of  well-sized 
fishes,  which  were  eagerly  devoured  by  hosts  of  storks  and 
crows,  and  other  birds,  that  came  suddenly  from  the  four 
quarters  of  the  wind,  to  share  in  the  rich  and  unexpected 


62  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature, 

repast.  Rains  of  frogs  are  even  more  frequent,  and  have, 
since  the  days  of  Moses,  occurred  in  almost  every 
country. 

Far  more  remarkable,  however,  are  the  spontaneous, 
though  casual,  journeys  of  certain  animals ;  as,  for  in- 
stance, those  of  the  almost  invisible  gossamer  of  Europe, 
floating  in  the  air  on  a  silvery  thread.  They  were  a 
marvel  to  former  days,  and  Chaucer  even  says — 

"As  sore  some  wonder  at  the  cause  of  thunder, 
On  ebb  and  flood,  on  gosomer,  and  mist. 
And  on  all  thing  till  the  cause  is  wist." 

The  tiny  aeronauts  may  be  seen,  on  almost  any  fine  day 
in  autumn,  spinning  a  wondrously  fine  thread,  without  fas- 
tening it,  and  then  letting  it  waft  about,  until  it  is  strong 
enough  to  carry  them.  All  of  a  sudden  they  shoot  out 
their  web,  and  mount  aloft,  even  when  no  air  is  stirring. 
And  on  these  slender  threads  they  travel,  we  know  not 
how  far,  for  Darwin  found,  three  hundred  miles  from 
shore,  thousands  of  these  little  red  sailors  of  the  air,  each 
on  its  own  line,  fill  down  upon  his  vessel.  Various  and 
curious  have  been  the  surmises  as  to  the  precise  nature 
of  their  mysterious  power  to  float  in  the  air.  As  they 
are  mostly  observed  on  misty  days,  when  a  heavy  dew 
falls,  it  has  been  thought  that  their  filmy  thread  might 
get  entangled  in  the  rising  dew,  and  by  its  brisk  eva- 
poration be  enabled  to  rise  even  with  the  additional  weight 
of  the  spider.  Others  have  discovered  that  the  little  crea- 
tures are  quite  familiar  with  the  laws  of  electricity,  and 
avail   themselves   of  it  for   their   airy  voyages.  Their 


Nature  in  Motion. 


63 


threads  are  said  to  be  negative  electric,  and  consequently- 
repelled  by  the  lower  atmosphere,  but  attracted  by  the 
higher  layers,  which  are  positive.  This  remains  to  be 
proved,  and  in  the  meantime,  we  can  but  repeat :  Hearken 
unto  this;  stand  still  and  consider  the  wondrous  works 
of  God  ! 

Among  the  well-known  causes  of  such  spontaneous  and 
irregular  migrations,  none  is  so  frequent  and  so  all-powerfal, 
as  hunger.  Tlie  wild  ass  of  the  steppes  of  Asia,  of  whom 
it  was  said  that,  "the  wilderness  and  barren  lands  are  his 
dwelling,"  leaves  the  deserts  of  Great  Tartary,  and  feeds 
in  summer  to  the  north  and  east  of  Lake  Aral  ;  in  fall 
they  migrate  by  the  thousand  to  the  north  of  India,  and 
even  to  Persia.  The  hare  of  Siberia,  and  the  rat  of  Nor- 
way, the  reindeer,  and  the  musk-ox,  all  leave  at  their 
season  the  Arctic  regions,  and  travel,  impelled  by  hunger, 
to  southern  latitudes.  More  regular  are  the  lemmings, 
a  kind  of  Lapland  marmot.  Scarcity  of  food,  or  over- 
population drives  them  once  or  twice  every  twenty-five 
years,  in  prodigious  bands,  from  the  Kolai  and  Lapland 
Alps,  one  species  to  the  east,  another  to  the  west.  A 
terrible  scourge,  they  devastate  field  and  garden,  ruin  the 
harvest,  and  hardly  spare  the  contents  of  houses.  Turning 
neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left,  they  march  on  in  a 
direct,  straight  line,  undeterred  by  mountain,  river,  or  lake, 
passing  boldly  through  village  and  town,  until  their  ranks, 
thinned  by  numerous  enemies,  are  lost  in  dense  forests, 
or  they  reach  the  Western  Ocean,  and  there  end  both 
their  journey  and  their  life.  Other  bands  go  through 
Sweden,  and  perish  in  the  Gulf  of  Bothnia,  so  that  but 


64 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature 


rarely,  and  often  after  an  interval  of  long  years,  small 
armies  re-unite  again  and  turn  their  steps  once  more  to- 
wards home. 

Of  the  lower  animals,  molluscs  and  infusoria  travel 
probably  in  largest  numbers ;  their  hosts  are  literally 
countless,  and  it  is  well  known  how  they  give  a  peculiar 
color  to  large  tracts  of  the  ocean. 

The  most  curious  circumstance  in  the  life  of  insects  is 
their  migration.  They  appear  in  large  flights  from  un- 
known regions,  in  places  where  they  have  never  been  seen 
before,  and  continue  their  course,  which  nothing  can  check 
for  a  moment.  They  fly,  they  jump,  they  even  crawl,  for 
hosts  of  slow,  clumsy  caterpillars  have  been  met  with  in 
the  attempt  to  cross  broad  rivers.  The  more  disgusting 
they  are,  the  more  persevering  seem  their  labors  to  fill 
the  earth.  The  bed-bug,  that  most  hated,  and  yet  most 
faithful  companion  of  man  in  all  parts  of  the  globe,  was 
not  even  known  in  Europe  before  the  eleventh  century, 
when  it  first  appeared  in  Strasburg,  and  then,  with  the 
beds  of  exiled  Huguenots,  was  carried  to  London.  The 
far  more  useful  silkworm,  on  the  other  hand,  defies  all 
our  care  and  attention,  and  will  not  travel  beyond  the 
reach  of  his  beloved  friend  and  only  food,  the  mulberry 
tree,  whose  leaf  has  to  be  destroyed  by  a  vile  caterpillar 
to  be  changed  into  bright,  beautiful  silk.  A  native  of 
Asia,  this  worm  also  was  used  in  China  long  before  arjy 
other  nation  knew  of  its  existence ;  in  the  sixth  century 
a  monk  brought  the  first  eggs  in  his  bosom  to  Constan- 
tinople, and  the  emperor,  Justinian,  at  once  spread  the  new 
branch  of  industry  zealously  through  Greece.    When  king 


Nature  in  Motion. 


65 


Roger  of  Sicily  conquered  that  land,  he  carried  the  silk- 
worm home  with  him,  as  his  most  precious  booty,  and 
introduced  it  into  Sicily.  From  thence  it  was,  with  equal 
care,  carried  further  North,  and  finally  also  to  this  country. 

The  bee  loves  the  West  so  dearly,  that  it  is  not  found 
beyond  the  Ural  Mountains,  and  at  the  beginning  of  this 
century  great  pains  had  to  be  taken  to  carry  it  into  Si- 
beria. Unknown  to  America,  it  had  no  sooner  reached 
our  shores,  in  1675,  than  it  spread,  with  amazing  rapidity, 
all  over  the  continent.  "The  fly  of  the  English,"  soon 
became  an  abomination  of  the  Indian,  because  their  ap- 
pearance in  the  woods  was  to  them  a  sure  sign  of  the 
coming  of  the  white  man.  Even  now  it  leads  the  great 
movement  towards  the  West :  first  is  heard  the  busy  hum- 
ming of  the  bee,  then  the  squatter's  weighty  axe,  and  after 
him  the  German's  strange  jargon. 

Ants  also  have  their  well-known  migrations,  and  aimless 
as  they  seem  to  be  to  human  eye,  blindly  as  the  little 
insects  seem  to  wander  in  the  dust,  still  they  go  as  little 
astray  as  the  countless  stars  in  heaven.  The  black  ant 
of  the  East  Indies,  especially,  becomes  even  useful  to  man. 
They  travel  in  countless  hordes;  the  fields  are  black  as 
far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  and  field  and  forest  are  left 
bare  behind  them.  Boldly  they  enter  human  dwellings; 
they  sweep  over  roof  and  garret, '  cellar  and  kitchen ;  no 
corner,  no  crevice,  ever  so  small,  remains  unexplored,  and 
no  rat  or  mouse,  no  cockroach  or  insect  can  be  found 
after  their  instinct  has  moved  these  not  unwelcome  guests 
to  continue  their  march. 

Very  different  are  the  migrations  of  the  fearful  locust, 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


that  ancient  symbol  of  mighty  conquerors,  laying  bare 
country  after  country,  as  an  overshadowing  and  dark  cloud, 
pregnant  with  the  wrath  of  heaven.  Their  home  is  in  the 
far  East,  in  places  near  the  desert.  There  they  deposit 
their  eggs  in  the  sand ;  when  hatched,  by  the  heat  of  the 
sun,  their  young  emerge,  without  wings,  from  the  ground; 
but  when  mature,  they  rise  on  the  first  faint  breeze  that 
stirs,  and  fly,  under  the  guidance  of  a  leader,  in  masses 
so  huge  and  so  dense,  that  the  air  is  darkened  and  the 
sound  of  their  wings  heard  like  the  murmur  of  the  distant 
ocean.  In  immense  flights  they  travel  from  the  East  to 
the  West,  penetrating  far  into  the  interior  of  Africa,  cross- 
ing, apparently  without  difficulty,  the  wide  waters  between 
Africa  and  Madagascar,  and  from  Barbary  to  Italy.  They 
have  been  seen  in  the  heart  of  Germany,  and  a  few  have 
even  been  met  with  in  Scotland.  The  land  is  as  the  gar- 
den of  Eden  before  them,  and  behind  them  a  desolate 
wilderness,  for  they  destroy  all  vegetable  life  with  unfailing 
certainty,  and  thus  often  cause  famine,  whilst  the  myriads 
of  corpses  which  they  leave  behind,  poison  the  air  and 
not  unfrequently  produce  disease  and  pestilence.  Well  did 
the  Jews  of  old  know  this  fierce  plague,  and  well  can  we 
understand  how  the  angel  of  the  bottomless  pit  could  ap- 
pear to  the  inspired  seer  in  the  form  of  a  fearfully  armed 
locust. 

On  the  easiest  routes  and  in  the  most  favorable  ele- 
ment for  locomotion  travel  fishes,  in  incessant  movement; 
even  swift  birds,  in  their  rapid  and  unwearied  flight,  must 
yield  the  palm  to  them,  the  eagle  to  the  shark,  the  swal 
low  to  the  herring.     Their  form,  also,  is  so  particularly 


Nature  in  Motion. 


67 


well  adapted  to  swift  and  easy  motion,  that  the  unavoid- 
able resistance  of  the  fluid  in  which  they  travel,  never 
seems  to  impede  their  progress.  While  birds,  when  they 
undertake  long  flights,  are  often  obliged  to  alight,  and 
even  try  to  rest  on  the  yards  of  vessels,  fishes  never 
seem  to  be  exhausted  by  fatigue  and  to  require  respite 
or  repose.  Sharks  are  known  to  have  kept  pace  with 
fast-sailing  ships  during  w^hole  long  voyages,  and  to  have 
sported  around  them  as  in  mockery. 

For  known  and  for  unknown  purposes,  in  the  tin}^  moun- 
tain brook,  and  in  the  wide  ocean,  fishes  are  seen  in  un- 
ceasing motion,  darting  in  all  directions,  travelling  now 
single,  and  now  in  shoals.  Their  regular  journeys  are 
mostly  undertaken  for  the  purpose  of  spawning;  the  deli- 
cate mackerel  moves  southward  when  its  time  comes,  and 
the  beautiful  sardine  of  the  Mediterranean  goes,  in  spring, 
westward,  and  returns  in  autumn  to  the  east.  The  stur- 
geon of  northern  Europe  is  seen  singly  to  ascend  the 
great  rivers  of  the  Continent,  and  the  ormul,  or  migra- 
tory salmon  of  the  polar  seas,  travels,  we  know  not  how, 
through  river  and  lake,  up  into  the  Baikal,  and  there 
swims,  in  whimsical  alternations,  but  always  in  immense 
crowds,  first  on  the  southern  and  then  on  the  northern 
bank.  The  travels  of  the  salmon  are  probably  best  known, 
because  the  fish  was  a  favorite  already  in  the  days  of 
Pliny,  and  yet,  strange  enough,  is  found  in  every  sea  in 
the  Arctic,  near  the  equator,  and  off  New  Holland,  only 
not  in  the  Mediterranean.  They  press  in  large,  triangular 
masses  up  all  the  great  northern  rivers  of  Europe,  Asia, 
and  America.    They  enter  Bohemia  with  Shakespeare,  by 


68  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

sea,  at  least,  sailing  up  the  river  Elbe ;  they  approach 
Switzerland  in  the  green  waters  of  the  Rhine,  and  even 
the  foot  of  the  Cordilleras  by  a  journey  of  three  thousand 
miles  up  the  Amazon !    Their  crowds  are-  not  unfrequently 
so  dense  that  they  actually  stem,  for  awhile,  the  current 
of  mighty  rivers;  still  these  bands  are  formed  with  great 
regularity.    The  strongest  and  largest  females  lead — a  fact 
which  will  rejoice  the  strong-minded  women  of  our  age — 
followed  by  others  of  the  same  sex,  travelling  two  and 
two  at  regular  intervals;  after  them  come  the  males  in 
like  order.     With  a  noise  like  the  distant  roaring  of  a 
storm,  they  rush  up  the  stream,  now  sporting  in  easy, 
graceful   motion,  and   now  darting  ahead  with  lightning 
speed  that  the  eye  cannot  follow.    Do  they  come  to  some 
rock  or  wall  that  impedes  their  way,  they  leap  with  in- 
credible force,  and  repeat  the  effort  until  they  have  over- 
come the  difficulty ;  it  is  even  said,  that,  at  the  foot  of 
cataracts,  they  will  take  their  tail  in  their  mouth,  and 
then,  suddenly  letting  it  go,  like  an  elastic  spring,  rise 
twelve  or  fifteen  feet  in  the  air.     Thus  they  travel  on, 
undismayed  and  untired,  until  they  have  found  a  suitable 
place  for  depositmg  their  eggs,  and  with  the  same  mar- 
vellous instinct  return,  year  after  year,  to  the  distant,  ocean. 

It  is  in  their  connection  with  the  wants  of  men,  how- 
ever, that  these  migrations  of  fishes  become  most  impor- 
tant and  interesting.  It  is  well  known  that  they  furnish 
the  sole  food  of  some  nations,  and  contribute  in  others  a 
vast  and  cheap  supply  that  covers  the  table  of  the  poor 
man  with  plenty.  Migrating  fishes  are  thus  one  of  the 
greatest  and  most  invaluable  gifts  of  the  Creator,  by  which 


Nature  in  Motion. 


69 


thousands  support  themselves  and  their  families,  and  which, 
at  certain  times,  form  the  exclusive  food  of  whole  races, 
as  the  sturgeon,  upon  which  all  Greek  Christians  subsist 
during  their  long  and  rigorous  fasts.    Hence,  also,  the  im- 
portance of  tlie  herring,  a  snjall,  insignificant  fish,  which 
yet  gives  food  to  millions,  and  employment  to  not  less 
than  three  thousand  decked  vessels,  not  to  speak  of  all 
the  open  boats  employed  in  the  same  fishery.  Where 
their  home  is,  man  does  not  know;  it  is  only  certain  that 
they  are  not  met  with  beyond  a  certain  degree  of  northern 
latitude,  and  that  the  genuine  herring  never  enters  the 
Mediterranean,  and  hence  remained  unknown  to  the  an- 
cients.   In  April  and  June,  all  of  a  sudden,  innumerable 
masses  appear  in  the  northern  seas,  forming  vast  banks, 
often  thirty  miles  long  and  ten  miles  wide.    Their  depth 
has  never  been  satisfactorily  ascertained,  and  their  dense- 
ness  may  be  judged  by  the  fact,  that  lances  and  harpoons 
thrust  in  between  them,  sink  not  and  move  not,  but  re- 
main standing  upright !    Divided  into  bands,  herrings  also 
move  in  a  certain  order.     Long  before  their  arrival  al- 
ready their  coming  is  noticed  by  the  flocks  of  sea-birds 
that  watch  them  from  on  high,  whilst  sharks  are  seen  to 
sport  around  them,  and  a  thick  oily  or  slimy  substance 
is  spread  over  their  columns,  coloring  the  sea  in  day- 
time, and  shining  with  a  mild,  mysterious  light  in  a  dark, 
still  night.    The  sea-ape,  the  "monstrous  chimera"  of  the 
learned,  precedes  them,  and  is,  hence,  by  fishermen,  called 
the  king  of  the  herrings.    Then  are  first  seen  single  males, 
often  three  or  four  days  in  advance  of  the  great  army; 
next  follow  the  strongest  and  largest,  and  after  them  enor- 


70 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


mous  shoals,  countless  like  the  sand  on  the  sea-shore  and 
the  stars  in  heaven.  They  seek  places  that  abound  in 
stones  and  marine  plants,  where  to  spa'xra,  and  like  other 
animals  they  frequent  the  localities,  to  which  they  have 
become  accustomed,  at  a  regular  time,  so  that  they  may 
be  expected  as  surely  as  the  sun  rises  and  sets. 

Other  fishes  have  strange  peculiarities  connected  with 
their  travels.  Thus,  we  are  told  that  the  mackerels  spend 
their  winter  in,  what  would  appear  to  others,  a  most  un- 
comfortable position.  In  the  Arctic  as  well  as  in  the 
Mediterranean,  as  soon  as  winter  comes,  they  deliberately 
plunge  their  head,  and  the  anterior  part  of  their  body,  into 
deep  mud,  keeping  their  tails  erected,  standing  straight  up. 
This  position  they  do  not  change  until  spring,  when  they 
emerge,  in  incredible  numbers,  from  their  hiding-places, 
and  go  southward  for  the  purpose  of  depositing  their  eggs 
in  more  genial  waters.  Still  they  are  so  firmly  wedded 
to  this  element  that  they  die  the  instant  they  are  taken 
out  of  the  water,  and  then  shine  with  phosphorescent 
light. 

The  eel  is  the  strangest  of  travelling  fishes ;  he  even 
performs  journeys  on  land.  In  hot,  dry  summers,  when 
ponds  and  pools  are  exhausted,  he  boldly  leaves  his 
home,  and  w^inding  through  thick  grass,  makes  his  way, 
by  night,  to  the  nearest  water.  He  is  a  great  gour- 
mand, moreover,  and  loves  young  tender  peas  so  dearly 
that  he  will  leave  the  river  itself  and  climb  up  steep 
banks  to  satisfy  his  desire  and,  alas !  to  fall  into  the 
snares  of  wicked  men.  Other  fishes  travel  in  large  crowds 
all    night   long,  and   a   perch    in   Tranquebar  not  only 


Nature  in  Motion. 


71 


creeps  on  shore,  but  actually  climbs  up  tall  fan-palms,  in 
pursuit  of  certain  shell-fish,  which  form  its  favorite  food. 
Covered  with  viscid  slime,  he  glides  smoothly  over  the 
rough  bark  ;  spines,  which  he  may  sheathe  and  unfold  at 
will,  serve  him  like  hands  to  hang  by,  and  with  the  aid 
of  side  fins  and  a  powerful  tail  he  pushes  himself  upward, 
thus  completing  the  strange  picture  of  fish  and  shell-fish 
dwelling  high  on  lofty  trees. 

In  remarkable  contrast  with  this  amazing  mobility  of 
fishes  stands  the  comparative  quiet  of  Amphibia,  which, 
double-dealing  creatures  as  they  are,  now  claim  the  dry 
land  as  their  home,  and  now  the  deep  waters.  The  cun- 
ning lizard,  the  creeping  snake,  the  venomous  toad,  or  the 
voracious  crocodile,  in  fine,  all  the  disgusting  animals  of 
this  class,  whom  man  looks  upon  with  awe  or  horror,  are 
fortunately  bound  to  the  glebe  on  which  they  are  born, 
and  of  them,  as  of  reptiles,  few,  if  any,  love  to  travel. 
The  violet  crab  of  the  West  Indies  and  South  America 
is  almost  the  only  one  among  them  all  that  undertakes 
long  journeys.  They  live  on  firm  land  only,  far  from  the 
ocean,  hid  in  dark  caves  or  caverns  of  the  mountains. 
But  once  in  the  year,  in  April  or  Jslay,  the  sun,  the  heat 
and  love  penetrate  the  thick  armor  of  these  cold-blooded 
beings.  All  of  a  sudden  they  burst  forth,  from  cleft  and 
crevice,  and  move  in  crowds  of  hundreds  and  thousands, 
so  that  the  ground,  the  roads  and  woods  are  covered. with 
their  uncouth  shapes.  The  vast  army  travels  in  strict 
battle  array ;  first  come  strong  men,  then  the  females,  in 
closely  packed  columns,  fifty  to  sixty  yards  wide,  and  often 
half  an  hour  long.    They  prefer  moving  at  night,  and  the 


72 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


loud  rattling  of  their  armor,  which  sounds  like  the  falling 
of  fierce  hail,  wakes  old  and  young.  During  the  day  they 
rest  at  least  twice,  and  hide  from  the  hot  sun ;  with  the 
cool  of  the  evening  they  set  out  once  more.  Instinct 
shows  them  the  shortest  way  to  the  ocean ;  nothing  ar- 
rests their  march,  and  they  never  break  their  ranks.  If 
rocks  or  walls  impede  their  way,  they  scale  them  with 
untiring  perseverance ;  if  a  house  blocks  up  their  road, 
they  coolly  enter  at  the  open  window,  frighten  for  a  mo- 
ment the  astonished  inmates,  but  move  peaceably  out  at 
the  other  side  and  pursue  their  march.  If  men  try  to 
arrest  them,  tli.ey  rise  with  great  indignation,  stretch  out 
their  huge  claw,  and  open  and  shut  it  with  a  loud  noise. 
Only  when  they  are  violently  frightened  they  show  real 
alarm,  and  hurr}^,  in  wild,  reckless  flight,  in  all  directions ; 
they  recover,  however,  very  soon,  form  again  at  a  short 
distance,  and  march  bravely  onward.  The  injury  they  do 
arises  much  less  from  what  they  eat  than  from  the  de- 
struction of  fields  and  gardens,  in  which  they  trample  down 
and  break  with  their  claws  everything  that  is  in  their 
w^ay.  It  is  another  strange  provision  of  nature,  that  only 
few,  the  strongest,  return  to  their  mountain  home ;  by  far 
the  largest  number  are  so  lean  and  weak,  that  they  cannot 
perform  the  long  journey  back,  and  serve  to  feed  the 
hungry  on  the  sterile  beach  of  the  Antilles. 

As  the  liquid  wave  sustains  the  rapid  fish,  so  the  still 
lighter  air  bears  the  swift  bird  on  broad  wings.  The 
number  of  birds  who  always  remain  in  the  same  region 
is  extremely  small ;  by  far  the  most  avail  themselves  of 
their  admirable  means  of  locomotion  to  go  to  very  great 


Nature  in  Motion. 


73 


distances,  in  order  to  avoid  the  hardships  of  winter,  and 
to  exchange  the  snow-covered  fields  of  the  north  for  the 
sunny  regions  of  lower  latitudes.  Some  are  perfect  cos- 
mopolites. The  raven  is  met  with,  not  only  throughout 
Europe,  but  croaks  ^^nournfully  on  the  shores  of  the  Black 
and  the  Caspian  Seas;  he  wings  his  sombre,  heavy  flight 
to  distant  India,  and  haunts  the  houses  of  Calcutta.  He 
forces  his  way,  with  daring  impudence,  over  the  guarded 
shores  x)£  Japan,  dwells  a  free  citizen  in  the  United  States, 
looks  with  equal  gravity  into  Mount  Etna  and  ice-covered 
Hecla,  and  braves  the  rigor  of  the  Arctic  regions  as  far 
as  Melville  Island. 

Generally,  however,  birds  have  a  home,  from  which  they 
only  migrate  at  stated  times,  to  find  a  supply  of  food 
and  a  temperature  well  suited  to  reproduction.  Their  ad- 
mirable powers  of  motion  enable  them  to  circulate,  for 
these  purposes,  more  widely  and  more  freely  all  over  the 
earth  than  any  other  class  of  animals.  In  this  they  are 
led  by  the  same  instincts  from  the  Almighty,  that  direct 
alike  the  life-withering  flights  of  the  locust,  and  the  cheerful 
migrations  of  the  swallow.  They  are  never  deceived  in 
their  time  by  any  peculiarity  of  wind  and  weather;  for 
truly,  "the  stork  in  the  heavens  knoweth  her  appointed 
time,  and  the  turtle,  and  the  crane,  and  the  swallow,  ob- 
serve the  time  of  their  coming."  It  even  seems  as  if 
certain  impulses  were  given  to  birds,  independent  of  their 
early  imitative  propensities,  which  must  proceed  directly 
from  the  Almighty  power  that  governs  the  universe.  How 
else  could  the  instinct  of  migration  be  felt  by  birds  kept 
in  cages,  whom  neither  cold  nor  want  of  food  could  in- 
4 


74 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


fluencel    And  yet  birds,  who  were  raised  from  the  egg, 
who  never  saw  the  flight  of  their  brethren,  never  heard 
the  voice  of  their  companions,  will,  at  the  appointed  time, 
become  restless,  show  an  insurmountable  uneasiness,  and 
when  let  loose,  dart  off,  as  if  guided  by  the  compass,  to 
join  their  unknown  friends  on  their  journey.    Little,  deli- 
cate beings,  these  feeble  birds  of  passage,  supported  by 
the  hand  of  Him  before  whom  not  one  of  the  sparrows 
OM  the  house-top  is  forgotten,  bear  up  against  storms  of 
snow  and  rain,  and  make  their  way  through  such  vast 
turbulence  as  would  apparently  embarrass  and  retard  the 
most  hardy  and  resolute  of  the  winged  nation.    Yet  they 
keep  their  appointed  time  and  season,  and  in  spite  of  frost 
and  winds,  return  to  their  station  .on  earth,  to  gladden 
and  cheer  the  hearts  of  men.     Besides  these  birds  that 
visit  the  temperate  zone  during  the  more  genial  parts  of 
the  year  and  add  so  greatly  to  the  beauty  and  music  of 
our  groves,  in  spring  and  summer,  there  are  others,  and 
those  a  numerous  tribe,  that  wing  their  way  to  the  samxe 
regions  w'hen  the  reign  of  w^inter  has  commenced.  When 
the  Arctic  seas,  and  lakes  and  rivers  present  an  unbroken 
field  of  impenetrable  ice,  various  waterfowl,  swans,  geese, 
and  ducks,  and  an  infinite  number  of  others  seek  a  warmer 
climate  to  the  south.     In  their  travels  each  variety  of 
birds  has  not  only  its  own  appointed  time,  but  also  its 
own  peculiar  way  of  arranging  their  vast  armies.  Some 
fly  singly,  and  some  in  groups,  others  migrate  in  thous- 
ands.   Most  travel  by  day ;  a  few  only  at  night,  so  that 
they  have  been  found  dead  in  light-houses,  having  flown 
against  the  dazzling  light.    Wild  geese  fly  in  long  lines, 


Nature  in  Motion. 


75 


swans  in  the  shape  of  a  wedge,  and  swallows  in  broad 
ranks;  starlings  roll  on  in  large  crowds,  constantly  whirl- 
ing around  an  axis  in  the  centre  of  their  body,  and  all 

"  ranged  in  figure,  wedge  their  way  and  set  forth 

Their  airy  caravan,  high  over  seas 
Flying,  and  over  lands  with  mutual  wing 
Easing  their  flight." 

Even  feeble,  ill-winged  birds  follow  the  all-powerful  im- 
pulse, and  traverse  vast  seas  and  continents  as  best  they 
can.  The  Virginia  partridge,  when  going  north,  is  so  heavy 
on  the  wing,  that  many  fall  into  the  rivers  and  end  their 
journey  by  swimming.  But  of  all  birds  the  quail  pro- 
ceeds, probably,  in  the  most  peculiar  manner.  When  they 
wish  to  leave  Europe  for  Africa,  they  wait  patiently  for 
a  strong  northwestern  wind;  as  soon  as  this  sets  in  they 
start,  and  flapping  one  wing,  while  they  present  the  other 
to  the  gale,  half  oar  half  sail,  they  graze  the  billows  of 
the  Mediterranean  with  their  fat,  heavy  rumps,  and  bury 
themselves  in  the  sands  of  Africa,  that  they  may  serve 
as  food  to  the  famished  inhabitants  of  Zara.  On  other 
journeys,  when  they  have  to  pass  over  land,  they  make 
their  way  running  and  hopping,  until  they  reach  the  shore. 
Tired  and  exhausted,  the  weary  rest  on  the  rigging  of 
ships,  or  make  regular  stations  in  the  Mediterranean,  on 
Malta  and  the  Lipari  islands ;  in  the  northern  seas,  on 
Heligoland  and  Norderney,  so  that  the  inhabitants  of  these 
places  depend  upon  a  large  harvest  of  quails,  like  the 
Jews  of  old,  as  a  condition  of  their  existence.  In  Heligo- 
land there  prevailed,  we  are  told,  the  quaint  usage,  that 
the  preacher  in  his  pulpit,  when  he  saw  from  his  elevated 


76 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


station,  a  flock  of  quails  approach,  immediately  broke  off 
his  sermon  with  the  words :  Amen !  my  dear  brethren,  the 
quails  are  coming ! 

Famous  are  also  the  flights  of  storks,  who  have  their 
summer-houses  high  up  in  the  north  of  Europe,  on  the 
roof  of  the  poor  peasants'  huts,  and  live  during  winter, 
in  stately  pride,  on  pyramid  and  mosque.  Cranes,  like- 
wise, and  herons,  travel  in  fall  to  the  warmer  south ; 
when  they  take  wing,  their  clang  is  heard  from  afar,  and 
they  rise  so  high  up  in  the  air,  that  the  eye  cannot  reach 
them,  and  we  only  hear  their  rough  voices,  for  they  do 
not  fly  in  silence,  as  most  other  birds,  but  utter  constant 
cries,  especially  when  travelling  at  night,  to  keep  the  scat- 
tering flock  together. 

Among  the  most  remarkable  migrations  of  birds  are 
those  of  the  North  American  pigeon,  the  very  "herrings 
of  the  air,"  as  they  have,  most  unpoetically,  been  called. 
Like  them,  however,  they  appear  in  astounding  numbers, 
nobody  knows  whence,  and  are  found  alike  all  over  this 
continent,  from  Hudson's  Bay  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and 
from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific.  About  broodtime,  they 
unite  in  millions  to  seek  a  comfortable  home.  Their  num- 
bers are  far  beyond  all  computation ;  they  darken  the 
heavens  with  their  vast  armies,  and  break  down  the  forests 
on  which  they  settle.  Not  less  strange  is  the  inexplicable 
faculty  which  other  pigeons  possess,  to  find  the  way  to 
their  home.  Birds  have  been  taken,  that  had  never  been 
further  from  the  place  of  their  birth  than  a  few  miles; 
they  w^ere  carried  by  rail  to  the  distance  of  more  than 
a  thousand  miles,  and  then  let  loose.     They  were  seen 


Nature  in  Motio.v. 


77 


to  fly  around  a  few  times  in  large  circles,  and  then,  m  a 
straight  line,  with  marvellous  swiftness,  directly  to  their 
home !  They  cannot  see  it,  for  the  roundness  of  the  globe 
would  prevent  that;  no  other  sense  can  possibly  come  to 
their  aid,  and  yet  they  never  fail  to  reach  the  place  from 
which  they  were  taken ! 

Thus  birds  travel  from  land  to  land  all  over  the  earth; 
some  sailing  high  in  the  air,  passing  without  astonishment 
over  populous  cities,  disdaining  fertile  valleys  and  plains 
covered  with  rich  grain,  bent  with  fixed  purpose  upon  the 
way  to  their  last  year's  home  ;  others,  like  the  swallow, 
gladdening  both  Europe  and  Africa,  and,  at  the  appointed 
time,  leaving  their  nest  to  seek  a  warmer  climate,  as  the 
soul  is  anxious  to  leave  this  earthly  home  to  seek  a 
better  world  above.  The  tender  nightingale  travels,  both 
sexes  together,  from  north  to  south  ;  but  in  early  spring 
the  females  leave  several  weeks  earlier,  and  wing  their 
way  from  Egypt  and  Syria,  alone,  to  northern  regions. 
Of  finches,  the  females  only  migrate,  the  males  remain 
behind,  and  being  thus  widowers  during  the  long  winter, 
have,  from  the  French,  I'cceived  the  name  of  celibataires. 
Not  inaptly  has,  therefore,  the  question  been  asked,  whether 
the  females  of  birds  are  not,  perhaps,  more  sensitive  to 
the  magnetic  current  that  whirls  around  our  globe,  than 
the  males'? 

The  Mammalia  do  not  roam  and  rove  so  much  as  the 
lighter  birds  and  favored  fishes;  they  are  generally  bound 
to  certain  localities,  and  at  all  events  chained  to  the  soil. 
Still  we  find  among  them  also  travellers,  now  driven  forth 
by  hunger,  and  now  by  an  overwhelming  number  of  beasts 


78  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature, 

of  prey,  to  seek  new  pastures  and  new  dwelling-places. 
Others,  again,  follow  man  in  his  migrations  over  the  globe, 
and  thus  spread  from  country  to  country.    To  the  former, 
belong  the  horses  which  now  roam  wild  on  the  plains  of 
South  America,  and  travel,  at  times,  thousands  of  miles. 
The  wild  asses,  also,  in  the  wilderness,  "  which  stand  up 
in  the  high  places  and  snuff  the  wind  like  dragons,"  travel 
in  bands  of  two  or  three  hundred,  and  leave,  in  winter, 
the  tropics  for  a  still  warmer  region  in  the  south  of 
Africa.    They  are  called  "the  Bushman's  harvest,"  for  the 
wild  Bushman  hunts  and  consumes  what  has  been  left  by 
the  royal  lion  and  the  hungry  vulture,  who  follow  them 
in  their  march  and  feast  upon  them  for  a  season.  Ga- 
zelles and  antelopes  migrate  in  like  manner,  and  even 
huge  elephants  are  seen  wandering  in  large  herds  over 
the  boundless  plains  of  Africa.    The  shaggy  buffalo  roams 
in  vast  numbers  over  the  prairies  of  our  own  continent, 
and  migrates  at  regular  intervals  from  the  north  to  the 
south,  and  from  the  plain  to  the  mountain.    Salt  springs 
are  with  them  the  great  centre  of  attraction,  but  gen- 
erally their  movements  seem  to  be  regulated  by  the  state 
of  their  pastures.    As  soon  as  the  fire  has  spread  over 
a  prairie,  and  is  succeeded  by  a  fine  growth  of  tender 
grass,  immense  herds  are  sure  to  appear.    How  they  dis- 
cover that  their  table  is  spread,  we  know  not ;  it  has 
been  surmised  that  stragglers  from  the  main  body,  who 
have  wandered  away  when  food  became  scarce,  may  first 
notice  the  new  growth,  and  by  some  mysterious  means, 
communicate  the   good  news   to   their  hungry  brethren. 
Monkeys,  also,  wander  from  land  to  land,  when  driven 


Nature  in  Motion. 


79 


by  hunger  or  fierce  enemies;  they  have  even  been  sus- 
pected of  passhig  through  a  tunnel  under  the  straits  of 
Gibraltar,  from  Africa  to  Europe.  Their  mode  of  crossing 
rivers  is  a  beautiful  evidence  of  their  ingenuity  and  in- 
stinct. A  powerful  male  seizes  a  branch  that  projects 
over  the  banks  of  the  stream,  and  suspends  himself  by 
his  prehensile  tail ;  another  takes  hold  of  him,  and  so  on 
until  they  have  a  row  as  long  as  the  river  is  wide.  Then 
they  begin  to  swing  the  living  chain,  and  continue  until 
the  impetus  is  powerful  enough  to  enable  the  last  one 
to  take  hold  of  a  tree  on  the  opposite  shore.  Over  this 
strange  bridge  the  whole  host  passes  safely ;  as  soon  as 
they  are  across,  the  first  monkey  lets  go  his  hold,  the 
chain  swings  again,  and  so  they  all  safely  get  over  large 
rivers. 

The  so-called  domestic  animals  travel  exclusively  by  the 
agency  of  man,  and  in  his  company.  It  is  thus  that  the 
horse,  a  native  of  the  wide  steppes  of  Central  Asia,  which 
was  not  known  on  this  continent  before  the  arrival  of  the 
Spaniards,  now  roams  over  it  in  vast  herds  from  Hud- 
son's Bay  to  Cape  Horn,  To  man  we  owe  it,  that  the 
goat  climbs  our  Rocky  Mountains,  and  white,  woolly  sheep 
graze  on  scanty  hill-sides,  whilst  the  heavier,  slower  cattle 
fatten  on  rich  low  grounds,  and  remind  us,  in  the  far 
backwoods,  by  the  sweet  harmonies  of  their  bells,  of  the 
neighborhood  of  men.  But  here,  also,  the  weeds  have  come 
with  the  good  plants.  Thus  the  domestic  (!)  rat,  a  native 
of  the  Old  World,  was  carried  in  ships  to  the  Cape,  to 
Mauritius  and  Bourbon,  to  the  Antilles  and  Bermuda.  An 
Antwerp  ship  brought  them,  1544,  first,  to  this  continent, 


80 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


where  they  astonished  the  good  Peruvians  so  much,  that 
they  obtained  with  them  the  name  of  "things  that  came 
out  of  the  sea."  Now  they  are  rarer  in  Europe  tlian 
m  America. 

The  importance  of  the  useful  domestic  animals  cannot 
be  overrated.  The  very  existence  of  man  is  bound  up 
with  the  horse,  the  ox,  and  the  sheep.  Brazil  lives  al- 
most exclusively  by  means  of  her  horses  and  her  cattle; 
and  Australia  has  developed  her  resources  and  progressed 
in  civilization  only  since  sheep  have  been  introduced.  It 
is  strange,  surely,  that  like  the  best  gifts  in  the  vegetable 
world,  the  cerealia,  so  these  domestic  animals,  also,  are 
♦  presents  which  the  east  has  sent  to  the  v/est,  and  for  which 
no  return  has  yet  been  made.  Here,  also,  an  invisible 
but  insurmountable  barrier  seems  to  prevent  such  an  ex- 
change. 

What  shall  we  lastly  say  of  the  wanderings  of  man? 
His  history  is  still  darker  than  that  of  his  servants,  and 
his  first  home,  our  Eden,  is  truly  defended,  even  now,  by 
an  angel  with  a  flaming  sword.  The  place  where  his 
cradle  stood  is  utterly  unknown.  The  first  period  of  his 
life  is  veiled  in  dark  night ;  only  a  few  brief  flashes  of 
light  are,  by  revelation,  thrown  upon  it,  which  show  us 
but  a  single  moment  in  a  long  period,  and  consequently, 
barely  allow  us  to  guess  at  the  connection,  without  giving 
us  anything  like  continuous  information. 

It  is  not  a  little  singular  that  one  of  the  strongest  ar- 
guments in  support  of  the  favorite  idea  of  man's  first 
home,  and  the  unity  of  his  race,  is  derived  from  the  an- 
alogy between  him  and  plants  and  animals.    As  the  latter 


Nature  in  Motion. 


81 


invariably  accompany  man,  and  as  they  all  come  from 
the  table  lands  of  Central  Asia,  so,  it  is  said,  man  also 
came  probably  from  that  portion  of  our  globe,  though, 
without  doubt,  at  a  time  when  the  now  dry  and  sterile 
heights  were  still  the  luxuriant,  tropical  valley  of  Eden. 
For  geologists  tell  us  we  may  with  good  reason  presume 
that  these  rich  low  grounds  were,  by  some  mysterious 
convulsion,  raised  slowly  and  steadily,  and  thus  the  races 
of  men  scattered  abroad  into  the  adjoining  fertile  valleys. 

When  this  happened  we  know  not.  It  must  have  been 
far  beyond  the  reach  of  history,  legend,  or  vague  tradi- 
tion. Even  the  oldest  races  of  the  earth,  whose  myths, 
fables,  or  songs,  whose  features  or  language,  point  to  the 
distant  East  with  greatest  certainty,  even  these  found  their 
land  already  in  possession  of  others. 

Thus  the  Celts,  among  the  oldest  nations  of  Europe, 
when  they  arrived  from  their  far  eastern  cradle,  encoun- 
tered in  Europe  already  nations  whose  imperfect  language, 
lawless  manners,  and  superstitious  faith,  showed  how  long 
they  had  been  separated  from  their  early  home,  and  from 
their  former  intimate  communion  with  the  Creator.  Nay, 
these  Celts  themselves,  coming  as  they  did  on  one  of  the 
very  first  waves  of  immigration  from  Asia,  were  already 
comparative  barbarians,  having  lost  both  the  culture  and 
the  faith  of  our  first  fathers.  If,  then,  so  little  is  posi- 
tively known  of  the  condition  of  the  West  of  Europe  and 
the  ancestors  of  the  present  masters  of  the  globe,  much 
less  can  be  gathered  as  to  the  state  of  things  in  East 
itself.  Still,  wherever  legends  speak,  dimly  though  it  be, 
wherever  traditions  begin  .^to  shed  a  faint  and  often  de- 
4* 


P'2 


Leaves  fuom  the  Book  of  Nature. 


coitful  light  upon  the  first  condition  of  powerful  nations — 
everywhere  immense  hordes  of  emigrants  are  seen  to 
p>our  forth,  age  after  age,  from  the  same  common  centre 
in  middle  Asia.  Chinese  myths  speak  of  an  immigra- 
tion from  the  West,  about  two  thousand  years  before 
Christ,  and  the  "Vendidad"  of  the  Zendavesta  says  that 
the  e<irly  Persians  came  under  Schemschid  from  Eastern 
table-lands  down  into  the  "four-cornered"  land,  their  pre- 
sent home. 

By  far  more  positive  and  certain  are  the  traditions  of 
the  three  greatest  races  on  earth,  both  on  account  of  the 
antiquity,  and  comparative  authenticity  of  their  legends, 
and  on  account  of  the  intrinsic  evidence  drawn  from  the 
mutual  relationship  in  which  they  stand  to  each  other. 

The  Hindoos,  whom  we  venerate  as  the  oldest  of  known 
civilized  nations,  derive  their  origin  from  the  Northwest, 
and  call  Hindukush"  and  "  Belustag"  in  their  traditions 
invariably  the  boundary  mountains — behind  which  their 
birth-place  is  hidden. 

The  Shemitic  nations  also  point  to  the  East  as  their 
common  home,  and  to  the  Ararat  as  the  landmark  which 
divides  their  first  dwelling  place  from  their  present  resi- 
dence. 

Now,  exactly  between  the  Ararat  and  the  Belustag,  lies 
that  vast  table-land,  which  most  men  are  disposed  to  con- 
sider the  birth-place  of  the  first  among  men.  Both  Indian 
and  Shemitic  races  brought  with  them  to  their  new 
dwelling  places,  not  only  an  indistinct  recollection  of  their 
former  home,  but  many  rich  treasures  of  their  former 
civilization,  in  one  word,  a  history  of  their  people.  These 


Nature  in  Motion. 


83 


elements  they  rapidly  developed  to  a  high  degree  of  power 
and  culture,  but  the  latter  withered  and  disappeared  as 
rapidly  again,  for  it  was  not  grown  on  its  native  soil,  not 
favored  by  the  sun  of  their  true  home.  Hence  they  either 
ceased  to  have  a  real  history  as  the  Chinese  and  the  In- 
dians, or  they  became  rude  barbarians,  as  the  Shemitic 
races. 

Different,  however,  was  the  destiny  of  the  third  great 
fiimily  of  men,  the  Indo-Germans,  who  probably  left,  last 
of  all  children,  the  paternal  house  of  the  East.  In  mil- 
lions they  poured  wave  after  wave  of  migrating  nations 
into  Europe,  the  last  of  which,  fortunately,  belongs  already 
to  historical  times,  and  under  the  well-known  name  of  the 
great  Migration  of  Nations,  changed  completely  the  whole 
ethnography  of  Europe.  Still,  among  all  the  numerous 
Indo- German  nations,  there  lives  not  a  single  legend  con- 
nected with  the  time  of  their  existence  in  Asia.  They 
seem  to  have  broken  with  the  past  for  ever,  to  have  ut- 
terly abandoned  their  early  home,  and  perhaps  even  the 
civilization  which  they  left  behind  them.  They  have  de- 
voted themselves,  instead,  to  that  grand  future,  which  alone 
seems  to  embody,  and  to  realize  the  great  destiny  of  man- 
kind. 

The  only  great  riddle  in  the  history  of  the  migrations 
of  men,  to  which  neither  revelation  nor  science  has  as  yet 
offered  the  key,  is  the  origin  of  the  natives  of  this  con- 
tinent. Surmises  abound,  from  the  most  absurd  to  the 
most  plausible.  The  poor  redskins  have  been,  at  will, 
transformed  into  exiled  Jews  or  banished  Chinese ;  their 
language  has  been  called  Syriac,  Welsh,  and  Celtic.  Their 


84 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


traditions  speak  simply  and  vaguely  first  of  a  rude,  original 
race  which  lived  in  the  fertile  plains  of  the  West,  and  of 
a  more  powerfnl  and  more  civilized  race  which,  at  a  later 
period,  came  from  the  North,  moved  victoriously  south- 
ward, and  subjugated  the  early  owners  of  the  soil.  The 
difference  of  the  two  contending  races  is  confirmed  by  the 
study  of  their  skulls.  But  we  know  not  whence  the  native 
settlers  came,  nor  whence  the  foreign  invaders.  Jt  is  con- 
jectured, and  with  good  reason,  that  as  this  continent  is 
geologically  older  than  that  of  Europe,  so  its  occupation, 
also,  dates  from  times  previous  to  the  Christian  history 
of  the  Old  World.  In  those  days,  however,  the  nations 
of  Asia  are  invariably  represented  as  leading  a  pastoral 
life,  and  as  having,  consequently,  long  domesticated  the 
ox  and  the  sheep.  It  i.^,  then,  in  the  highest  degree  im- 
probable that  emigrants  of  those  times,  should  have  left 
these  incalculable  blessings  behind  them,  if,  as  many  be- 
lieve, they  went  from  Asia  by  a  northwest  passage  across 
the  Atlantic  to  America.  Yet,  no  trace  of  domestic  ani- 
mals was  found  here.  As  improbable,  however,  is  it  that, 
if  by  accident  they  should  have  been  compelled  to  leave 
them  behind,  they  should  not  at  once  have  set  to  work, 
in  continuance  of  ancient  custom,  to  tame  the  buffalo,  the 
vicuna,  and  the  alpaca,  as  the  Europeans  did  when  they 
arrived  on  this  continent. 

Setting  this  only  great  riddle  aside,  and  resuming  all 
that  myths,  traditions,  and  revelation  itself,  tell  us,  so 
much  only  seems  to  be  certain,  that  all  migrations  of  men, 
like  those  of  plants  and  animals,  have  gone  from  the 
rising  to  tne  setting  sun.    Everywhere  history  begins  with 


Nature  in  Motion. 


85 


an  immigration  of  eastern  races.  In  southern  Europe  ap- 
peared the  seafaring  Pelasgi ;  they  were  soon  followed  by 
the  Etruscans;  then  came  the  Helleni.  From  the  table- 
lands of  the  Waldai  we  see  next  the  Istuni  or  Fins  driven 
westward  by  the  pressure  of  countless  Teutons.  The  lat- 
ter, together  with  Slaves,  soon  rush  into  Scandinavia,  Ger- 
many, and  France.  The  same  phenomenon,  in  fact,  is 
constantly  repeated.  New  waves  of  new  nations  roll  on 
from  the  East,  and  shake  the  foundations  of  older,  well 
organized  kingdoms,  until  Columbus  opens  the  western  gate 
to  let  loose  the  rising  stream  of  Asiatic  races,  which  now 
flood  the  new  continent. 

This  resistless  movement  toward  the  West  is  yet  un- 
broken, unrelenting.  The  same  great  law  of  nature  impels 
man  towards  the  setting  sun,  and  all  his  efforts  to  travel 
eastward  have  been  ingloriously  foiled.  In  vain  did  mil- 
lions of  brave,  pious  men  rush  to  the  Orient  to  reconquer 
the  Holy  Land ;  in  vain  were  the  most  chivalrous  courage, 
the  most  devoted  self-sacrifice,  employed  against  the  stern 
eternal  rule  of  nature.  No  great  expedition  to  the  East 
has  ever  been  successful  and  permanent.  Vast  distances 
have  been  traversed,  vast  reverses  sustained,  and  hardships 
incredible  endured — only  to  result  in  grand  defeats,  like 
the  Anabasis  of  the  younger  Cyrus,  and  the  retreat  of 
the  noble  ten  thousand.  And  so  it  is,  still,  in  our  day. 
As  recently  as  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century,  a  whole 
Tartar  nation,  several  hundred  thousands  of  Kalmucks, 
with  all  their  herds,  left  southern  Russia,  and  fled  across 
the  boundless  steppes  of  Asia,  to  escape  the  iron  rule  of 
the  Russian  sceptre.     They  left  unimpeded ;   they  were 


86 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


allowed  to  defy  their  master's  vengeance — but  they  could 
not  disobey  the  great  law  of  nature.  A  few  beggars  re- 
turned, long  years  after,  to  report  that  the  whole  tribe 
had  perished,  a  whole  nation  had  disappeared  from  the 
globe!  And  the  same  law  called  to  Xapoleon,  when  he 
was  at  the  height  of  his  power,  sternly  uttering  the  Scrip- 
ture words :  Hitherto  shalt  thou  oome  but  no  further ! 


The  Ocean  and  its  Life. 


87 


III. 

C|e  §umx  miii  its  %xk, 

"How  sweet  .... 
With  half-dropt  eyelids  still, 
Beneath  a  heaven  dark  and  holy, 
To  watch  the  long,  bright  river  draw  in  slowly 
His  waters  from  the  purple  hill- 
To  hear  the  emerald-colored  water  falling 
Thro'  many  a  woven  acanthus-wreath  divine! 
Only  to  hear  and  see  the  far-off  sparkling  brine, 
Only  to  hear  were  sweet." — TE5rNTS0>\ 

JTIGH  on  the  terrible  cliff  that  overhangs  the  Scylla  of 
the  ancients  stood  King  Frederick  of  Sicily ;  and  by 
his  side  the  fairest  of  Europe's  fair  daughters.  Often  and 
often  had  he  gazed  down  into  the  fierce  seething  cauldron 
beneath  him,  and  in  vain  had  he  offered  the  gold  of  his 
treasure  and  the  honors  of  his  court  to  him  who  would  dive 
into  the  whirlpool  and  tell  him  of  the  fearful  mysteries  that 
were  hid  beneath  the  hissing,  boiling  foam.  But  neither 
fisherman  nor  proud  knight  had  dared  to  tempt  the  God 
of  mercy,  and  to  venture  down  into  the  dread  abyss,  which 
threatened  death,  sure,  inevitable  death,  to  the  bold  in- 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


truder.  But  better  than  gold  and  honor,  is  fair  maiden's 
love.  And  when  the  king's  beautiful  daughter  smiled  upon 
the  gazing  crowd  around  her,  and  when  her  sweet  lips 
uttered  words  of  gentle  entreaty,  the  spell  was  woven, 
and  the  bold  heart  found  that  would  do  her  bidding,  for- 
getful of  worldly  reward,  and  alas  !  unmindful,  also,  of  the 
word  of  the  Almighty ! 

He  was  a  bold  seaman,  and  his  companions  called  him 
Pesce-Colo,  Nick  the  Fish,  for  he  lived  in  the  ocean's 
depths,  and  days  and  nights  passed,  which  he  spent  swim- 
ming and  diving  in  the  warm  waters  of  Sicily.  And  from 
the  very  clift'  on  which  the  king  had  spoken  his  taunting 
words,  from  the  very  feet  of  his  fair  tempting  child,  he 
threw  himself  down  into  the  rasfincr  flood.  The  waters 
closed  over  him,  hissing  and  seething  in  restless  madness, 
and  deeper  and  darker  grew  the  fierce  whirlpool.  All 
eyes  were  bent  upon  the  gaping  gulf,  all  lips  were  silent 
as  the  grave.  Time  seemed  to  be  at  rest ;  the  very 
hearts  ceased  to  beat.  But  lo !  out  of  the  dark  waves 
there  arises  a  snow-white  form,  and  a  glowing  arm  is  seen, 
and  black  curls  hanging  down  on  the  nervous  neck  of 
the  daring  seaman.  And,  as  he  breathes  once  more  the 
pure  air  of  heaven,  and  as  his  eyes  behold  once  more 
the  blue  vault  above  him,  he  stammers  words  of  thanks 
to  his  Maker ;  and  a  shout  arose  from  cliff  to  cliff,  that 
".he  welkin  rang,  and  the  ocean's  roar  was  hushed. 

But  when  their  eyes  turned  again  to  greet  the  bold 
man  who  had  dared  what  God  had  forbidden,  and  man 
had  never  ventured  to  do,  the  dark  waters  had  closed 
upon  him.     They  saw  the  fierce  flood  rush  up  in  wild 


The  Ocean  and  its  Life. 


89 


haste ;  they  saw  the  white  foam  sink  down  into  the  dark, 
gloomy  gulf ;  they  heard  the  thundering  roar  and  the  hid- 
eous hissing  below  ;  the  waters  rose  and  the  waters  fell, 
but  the  bold,  daring  seaman  was  never  seen  again. 

Legend  recites  the  fearful  tale,  and  the  poet  repeats  it 
in  melodious  strains.  But  it  is  neither  fable  nor  fiction. 
The  same  dread  mystery  broods  yet  over  the  waters,  and 
little  is  even  now  known  of  the  great  deep,  where  the 
hungry  ocean  dem.ands  still  its  countless  victims.  For  the 
calm  of  the  sea  is  a  treacherous  rest,  and  under  the  de- 
ceitful mirror-like  smoothness  reign  eternal  warfare  and 
strife.  Ocean  us  holds  not,  as  of  old,  the  Earth,  his  spouse, 
in  quiet,  loving  embrace;  our  sea-god  is  a  god  of  battles, 
and  wrestles  and  wrangles  in  never-ceasing  struggle  with 
the  firm  continent.  Even  when  apparently  calm  and  slum- 
bering, he  is  moving  in  restless  action,  for  "there  is  sorrow 
on  the  sea,  it  cannot  be  quiet."  Listen,  and  you  will  hear 
the  gentle  beating  of  playful  waves  against  the  snowy 
sands  of  the  beach ;  look  again,  and  you  will  see  the 
gigantic  mass  breathe  and  heave  like  a  living  being.  No 
quiet,  no  sleep,  is  allowed  to  the  great  element.  As  the 
little  brook  dances  merrily  over  rock  and  root,  never  rest- 
ing day  and  night,  so  the  great  ocean,  also,  knows  no 
leisure,  no  repose. 

It  is  not  merely,  however,  that  the  weight  of  the  agi- 
tated atmosphere  presses  upon  the  surface  of  the  vast 
ocean,  and  moves  it  now  with  the  gentle  breath  of  the 
zephyr,  and  now  with  the  fierce  power  of  the  tempest. 
Even  when  the  waters  seem  lashed  into  madness  by  the 
raging  tornado,  or  rise  in  daring  rebellion  under  the  sud- 


1)0 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


den,  sullen  fury  of  the  typhoon,  it  is  but  child's  play 
compared  with  the  gigantic  and  yet  silent,  lawful  move- 
ment, in  which  they  ascend  to  the  very  heavens  on  high, 
where  "  He  bindeth  up  the  waters  in  His  thick  clouds," 
and  then  again  sink  uncomplaining  to  the  lowest  depths 
of  the  earth. 

As  the  bright  sun  rests  warm  and  glowing  on  the 
bosom  of  the  cool  flood,  millions  of  briny  drops  abandon 
the  mighty  ocean  and  rise,  unseen  by  human  eye,  borne 
on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  up  into  the  blue  ether.  But 
soon  they  are  recalled  to  their  allegiance.  They  gather 
into  silvery  clouds,  race  around  the  globe,  and  sink  down 
again,  now  impetuously  in  a  furious  storm,  bringing  de- 
struction and  ruin,  now  as  gentle  rain,  fertilizing  and 
refreshing,  or  more  quietly  yet,  as  brilliant  dew  pearls, 
glittering  in  the  bosom  of  the  unfolding  rose,  and  filling 
each  tiny  cup  held  up  by  leaf  and  blossom.  Eagerly  the 
thirsty  earth  drinks  in  the  heavenly  gift ;  in  a  thousand 
veins  she  sends  it  down  to  her  lowest  depths,  and  fills 
her  vast  invisible  reservoirs.  Soon  she  can  hold  the  rich 
abundance  of  health-bringing  waters  no  longer,  and  through 
cleft  and  cliff  they  gush  joyfully  forth  as  merry,  chatter- 
ing springs.  They  join  rill  to  rill,  and  rush  heedlessly 
down  the  mountains  in  brook  and  creek,  until  they  grow 
to  mighty  rivers.  Thundering  over  gigantic  rocks,  they 
leap  fearlessly  down  lofty  precipices,  or  gently  rolling  their 
mighty  masses  along  the  inclined  planes  of  lowlands,  be- 
come man's  obedient  slaves,  and  carry  richly  laden  vessels 
on  their  broad  shoulders,  until  they  return  once  more  to 
the  bosom  of  their  common  mother,  the  great  ocean. 


The  Ocjkan  and  its  Life. 


91 


IIow  quietly,  how  silently  nature  works  in  her  great 
household !  Unheard  and  unseen,  these  enormous  masses 
of  water  rise  up  from  the  broad  seas  of  the  earth,  and 
yet  it  requires  not  less  than  one-third  of  the  whole  warmth 
which  the  sun  grants  to  our  globe,  to  lift  them  up  from 
the  ocean  to  the  region  of  clouds.  Raised  thus  by  forces 
far  beyond  our  boldest  speculations,  and  thence  returning 
as  blessed  rain,  as  humble  mill-race,  or  as  active,  rapid 
high-road,  carrying  huge  loads  from  land  to  land,  the  ocean 
receives  back  again  its  own,  and  thus  completes  one  of  its 
great  movements  in  the  eternal  circle  through  water,  air, 
and  land. 

But  the  mighty  ocean  rests  not  even  in  its  own  legi- 
timate limits.  When  not  driven  about  as  spra}^,  as  mist, 
as  rain,  when  gently  reposing  in  its  eternal  home  on  the 
bosom  of  the  great  earth,  it  is  still  subject  to  powerful  in- 
fluences from  abroad.  That  mysterious  force  which  chains 
sun  to  sun,  and  planet  to  planet,  which  calls  back  the 
wandering  comet  to  its  central  sun,  and  binds  the  worlds 
in  one  great  universe,  the  force  of  general  attraction,  must 
needs  have  its  effect  upon  the  waters  also,  and  under  the 
control  of  sun  and  moon,  they  perform  a  second  race 
around  the  globe  on  which  we  live. 

When  the  companions  of  Nearchus,  under  Alexander 
the  Great,  reached  the  mouth  of  the  Indus,  nothing  excited 
their  amazement  in  that  wonderful  country  so  much  as 
the  regular  rise  and  fall  of  all  the  ocean — a  phenomenon 
which  they  had  never  seen  at  home,  on  the  coasts  of  Asia 
Minor  and  Greece.  Even  their  short  stay  there  sufficed, 
however,  to  show  them  the  connection  of  this  astonishing 


92  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

change  with  the  phases  of  the  moon.  For  "sweet  as 
the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank,"  it  is  nevertheless 
full  of  silent  power.  Stronger  even  than  the  larger  sun, 
because  so  much  nearer  to  the  earth,  it  raises  upon  the 
boundless  plains  of  the  Pacific  a  wave  only  a  few  feet 
high,  but  extending  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and 
moves  it  onwards,  chained  as  it  were  to  its  own  path 
high  in  heaven.  Harmless  and  powerless  this  wave  rolls 
along  the  placid  surface  of  the  ocean.  But  lands  arise, 
New  Holland  on  one  side,  southern  Asia  on  the  other, 
and  the  low  but  immensely  broad  tidal  wave  is  pressed 
together  and  rises  upwards,  racing  rapidly  round  the  sharp 
point  of  Africa.  Quickly  it  reaches  Fez  and  Morocco; 
a  few  hours  later  it  passes  through  the  Straits  of  Gibral- 
tar, and  along  the  coast  of  Portugal.  From  thence  it 
rushes,  with  increased  force,  into  the  Channel  and  past  the 
western  coast  of  England.  There  the  rocky  cliffs  of  Ire- 
land, and  the  numerous  islands  of  the  northern  seas, 
arrest  its  rapid  course,  so  that  it  reaches  Norway  only 
after  an  eight  hours'  headlong  race.  Another  branch  of 
the  same  wave  hurries  along  the  eastern  coast  of  America, 
in  almost  furious  haste,  often  amounting  to  one  hundred 
and  twenty  miles  an  hour ;  from  thence  it  passes  on  to 
the  north,  where,  hemmed  in  on  all  sides,  it  rises  here 
and  there  to  the  enormous  height  of  eighty  feet.  Such 
is  not  rarely  the  case  in  the  Bay  of  Fundy — a  circum- 
stance which  shows  us  forcibly  the  vast  superiority  of 
this  silent,  steady  movement  over  that  of  the  fiercest  tem- 
pest. For  even  at  that  most  stormy  and  most  dreaded 
spot  on  earth.  Cape  Horn,  all  the  violence  of  raging  tem- 


The  Ocean  and  its  Life. 


93 


pests  cannot  raise  the  waves  higher  than  some  thirty  feet, 
nor  does  it  ever  disturb  the  habitual  calm  of  the  ocean 
below  the  depth  of  a  few  fathoms,  so  that  divers  do  not 
hesitate  to  stay  below,  even  when  the  hurricane  rages 
above.  Gentle  in  its  appearance,  though  grand  in  its  effect, 
this  mighty  wave  shows  its  true  power  only  when  it  meets 
obstacles  worthy  of  such  effort.  Where  strong  currents 
oppose  its  approach,  as  in  the  river  Dordogne,  in  France, 
it  races  in  contemptuous  haste  up  the  daring  stream,  and 
reaches  there,  for  instance,  in  two  minutes,  the  height  of 
lofty  houses.  Or  it  rolls  the  mighty  waters  of  the  Amazon 
river  into  huge  dark  masses  of  foaming  cascades*  and  then 
drives  them  steadily,  resistlessly  upwards,  leaving  the  calm, 
of  a  mirror  behind,  and  sending  its  roar  and  its  thunder 
for  miles  into  the  upland. 

Still  less  known  and  less  observed  is  the  third  great 
mxOvement  which  interrupts  the  apparent  calm  and  peace 
of  the  ocean.  For  here,  as  everywhere,  movement  is 
life,  as  rest  would  be  death.  Without  this  ever-stirring 
activity  in  its  own  bosom,  without  this  constant  moving 
and  intermingling  of  its  waters,  the  countless  myriads  of 
decaying  plants  and  animals  which  are  daily  buried  in  the 
vast  deep,  would  soon  destroy,  by  their  mephitic  vapors, 
all  life  upon  earth.  This  greatest  of  all  movements,  never 
resting,  never  ending,  is  the  effect  of  the  sun  and  the  heat 
it  ges  crates.  Like  all  bodies,  water  also  contracts,  and 
consequently  grows  heavier  as  the  temperature  sinks;  but 
only  to  a  certain  point,  about  three  degrees  Reaumur. 
This  is  the  invariable  warmth  of  the  ocean  at  a  depth 
of  three  thousand  six  hundred  feet,  and  below  that.  If 


94 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


the  temjDerature  is  cooler,  water  becomes  thinner  again 
and  lighter,  so  that  at  the  freezing  point,  as  ice,  it  weighs 
considerably  less  than  when  fluid.  The  consequence  of 
this  peculiar  relation  of  water  to  heat  produces  the  re- 
markable result,  that  in  the  great  ocean  an  incessant  move- 
ment continues :  up  to  the  above  mentioned  degree  of  heat, 
th^  warmer  and  lighter  water  rises  continually,  whilst  the 
cooler  and  heavier  sinks  in  like  manner;  below  that  point 
the  colder  water  rises  and  the  warmer  part  descends  to 
the  bottom.  Hence,  the  many  currents  in  the  vast  mass 
of  the  ocean  ;  sometimes  icy  cold,  at  other  times  warm, 
and  even  hot,  so  that  often  the  difference  between  the 
temperature  of  the  current  and  that  of  the  quiet  water 
by  its  side,  is  truly  astonishing.  The  great  Humboldt 
found  at  Truxillo  the  undisturbed  waters  as  warm  as 
twenty-two  degrees,  whilst  the  stream  on  the  Peruvian 
coast  had  but  little  more  than  eight  degrees,  and  the  sailor 
who  paddles  his  boat  with  tolerable  accuracy  on  the  outer 
line  of  the  gulf-stream,  may  dip  hi^  left  into  cold  and 
his  right  into  warm  water. 

Greater  w^onders  still  are  hidden  under  the  calm,  still 
surface  of  the  slumbering  giant.  Thoughtless  and  careless, 
man  passes  in  his  light  fragile  boat,  over  the  boundless 
expanse  of  the  ocean,  and  little  does  he  know,  as  yet, 
of  the  vast  plains  beneath  him,  the  luxuriant  forests,  the 
sweet,  green  meadows,  that  lie  stretched  out  at  the  foot 
of  unmeasured  mountains,  which  raise  their  lofty  peaks 
up  to  his  ship's  bottom,  and  of  the  fiery  volcanoes  that 
earthquakes  have  thrown  up  below  the  waves. 

For  the  sea,  also,  has  its  hills  and  its  dales ;  its  table- 


The  Ocean  and  its  Life. 


95 


lands  and  its  valleys,  sometimes  barren,  and  sometimes 
covered  with  luxuriant  vegetation.  Beneath  its  placid,  even 
surface,  there  are  inequalities  fur  greater  than  the  most 
startliiw  heic^hts  on  the  continents  of  the  earth.  In  the 
Atlantic,  south  of  St.  Helena,  the  lead  of  the  French  frigate 
Venus,  reached  bottom  only  at  a  depth  of  14,550  feet, 
or  a  distance  equal  to  the  height  of  Mount  Blanc ;  and 
Captain  Ross,  during  his  last  expedition  to  the  South  Pole, 
found  no  bottom  yet  at  27,600  feet,  a  depth  equal  to 
more  than  five  miles,  so  that  there  the  Dawalaghiri  might 
have  been  placed  on  top  of  Mount  Sinai,  without  appear- 
ing above  the  waters !  And  yet,  from  the  same  depth, 
mountains  rise  in  cliffs  and  reefs,  or  expand  upwards  in 
broad,  fertile  islands. 

Nor  can  we  any  longer  sustain  the  ancient  faith  in  the 
stability  of  the  "  terra  jirma^''  as  contrasted  with  the  ever- 
changing  nature  of  the  sea.  Recent  discoveries  have 
proved,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  land  changes,  and  the 
waters  are  stable !  The  ocean  maintains  always  the  same 
level ;  but,  as  on  the  great  continents,  table-lands  rise  and 
prairies  sink,  so  does  the  bottom  of  the  sea  rise  and  fall. 
In  the  South  Sea  this  takes  place  alternately,  at  stated 
times.  To  such  sinking  portions  of  our  earth  belongs, 
among  others,  New  Holland.  So  far  from  being  a  new, 
young  land,  it  is,  on  the  contrary,  with  its  strange  flora, 
so  unlike  that  of  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  its  odd  and 
marvellous  animals,  an  aged,  dying  island,  which  the  ocean 
is  slowly  burying,  inch  by  inch. 

And  a  wondrous  world,  is  the  world  of  the  great  sea. 
There  are  deep  abysses,  filled  with  huge  rocks,  spectral 


96 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


ruins  of  large  ships,  and  the  corpses  of  men.  There  lie, 
half  covered  with  lime  and  slime,  the  green,  decaying  gun, 
and  the  precious  box,  filled  with  the  gold  of  Peru's  snow- 
covered  Alps,  by  the  side  of  countless  skeletons,  gathered 
fi'om  every  race  and  every  clime.  There  moulders  the 
bald  skull  of  the  brave  sea  captain,  by  the  side  of  the 
broken  armor  of  gigantic  turtles;  the  w^haler's  harpoon 
rests  peaceably  near  the  tooth  of  the  whale ;  thousands 
of  fishes  dwell  in  huge  bales  of  costly  silks  from  India, 
and  over  them  pass,  in  silent  crowds,  myriads  of  dimin- 
utive infusoria;  enormous  whales,  and  voracious  sharks, 
chase  before  them  thickly  packed  shoals  of  frightened 
herrings.  Here,  the  sea  foams  and  frets  restlessly  up 
curiously-shaped  cliffs,  and  oddly-formed  rocks ;  there,  it 
moves  sluggishly  over  large  plains  of  white,  shining  sand. 
In  the  morning,  the  tidal  weaves  break  in  grim  fury  against 
the  bald  peaks  of  submarine  Alps,  or  pass,  in  hissing 
streams,  through  ancient  forests  on  their  side ;  in  the  even- 
ing, they  glide  noiselessly  over  bottomless  abysses,  as  if 
afraid,  lest  they,  also,  might  sink  dow^n  into  the  eternal 
night  below,  from  which  rises  distant  thunder,  and  the 
locked  up  waters  roar  and  rage  like  evil  spirits  chained 
in  the  vast  deep. 

The  ocean  is  a  vast  charnel  house.  There  are  millions 
and  millions  of  animals  mouldering,  piled  up,  layer  upon 
layer,  in  huge  masses,  or  forming  mile-long  banks.  For 
no  peace  is  found  below,  and  under  the  thin,  transparent 
veil,  there  reigns  endless  murder,  wild  warfare,  and  fierce 
bloodshed.  Infinite,  unquenchable  hatred  seems  to  dwell 
in  the  cold,  unfeeling  deep.     Destruction  alone  maintains 


The  Ocean  and  its  Life. 


97 


life  in  the  boundless  world  of  the  ocean.  Lions,  tigers, 
and  wolves,  reach  a  gigantic  size  in  its  vast  caverns,  and, 
day  after  day,  destroy  whole  generations  of  smaller  ani- 
mals. Polypi  and  mcdusoc,  in  countless  numbers,  spread 
their  nets,  catching  the  thoughtless  radiati  by  tens  of 
thousands,  and  the  huge  whale  swallows,  at  one  gulp, 
millions  of  minute,  but  living  creatures.  The  swordfish 
and  the  sea-lion  hunt  the  elephant  and  the  rhinoceros  of 
the  Pacific,  and  tiny  parasites  dart  upon  the  tunny  fish, 
to  dwell  in  myriads  in  his  thick  layers  of  fat.  All  are 
hunting,  killing,  murdering ;  but  the  strife  is  silent,  no 
war-cry  is  heard,  no  burst  of  anguish  disturbs  the  eternal 
silence,  no  shouts  of  triumph  rise  up  through  the  crystal 
waves  to  the  w^orld  of  light.  The  battles  are  fought  in 
deep,  still  secresy ;  only  now  and  then  the  parting  waves 
disclose  the  bloody  scene  for  an  instant,  or  the  dying 
whale  throws  his  enormous  carcass  high  into  the  air, 
driving  the  water  up  in  lofty  columns,  capped  with  foam, 
and  tinged  with  blood. 

Ceaseless  as  that  warfare  is,  it  does  not  leave  the  ocean's 
depths  a  w^aste,  a  sceii.'^  of  desolation.  On  the  contrary, 
we  find  that  the  sea,  the  most  varied  and  the  most  won- 
derful part  of  creation,  where  nature  still  keeps  some  of 
her  profoundest  secrets,  is  teeming  with  life.  "  Things  in- 
numerable, both  great  and  small,  are  there."  It  contains, 
especially,  a  most  diversified  and  exuberant  abundance  of 
animal  life,  from  the  microscopic  infusoria,  in  inconceivable 
numbers,  up  to  those  colossal  forms  which,  free  from  the 
incumbrance  of  weight,  are  left  free  to  exert  the  whole 
of  their  giant  power  for  their  enjoyment.  Where  the 
5 


98 


Leaves  from  the  Book  qf  Nature. 


rocky  cliffs  of  Spitzbergen  and  the  inhospitable  shores  of 
Victoria  land  refuse  to  nourish  even  the  simplest,  hum- 
blest lichen,  where  no  reindeer  is  ever  seen,  and  even  the 
polar  bear  finds  no  longer  a  home,  there  the  sea  is  still 
covered  with  fuci  and  confer v£e,  and  myriads  of  minute 
animals  crowd  its  life-sustaining  waves.  Naturally,  the 
purest  spring-water  is  not  more  limpid  than  the  water  of 
the  ocean ;  for  it  absorbs  all  colors  save  that  of  ultra- 
marine, which  gives  it  the  azure  hue  vying  with  the  blue 
of  heaven.  It  varies  to  be  sure,  with  every  gleam  of  sun- 
shine, with  every  passing  cloud,  and  when  shallow,  it  re- 
flects the  color  of  its  bed.  But  its  brightest  tints,  and 
strangest  colors,  are  derived  from  infusoria  and  plants.  In 
the  Arctic  Sea,  a  broad  band  of  opaque  olive  green  passes 
right  through  the  pure  ultramarine;  and  off  the  Arabian 
coast,  we  are  told,  there  is  a  strip  of  green  water  so  dis- 
tinctly marked,  that  a  ship  has  been  seen  in  blue  and 
green  water  at  the  same  time.  The  Vermillion  Sea  of 
California,  has  its  name  from  the  red  color  of  vast  quan- 
tities of  infusoria,  and  the  Red  Sea  of  Arabia  changes 
from  delicate  pink  to  deep  scarlet,  as  its  tiny  inhabitants 
move  in  thicker  or  thinner  layers.  Other  masses  of  mi- 
nute creatures  tinge  the  waters  round  the  Maldives,  black, 
and  that  of  the  Gulf  of  Guinea,  white. 

When  Captain  Ross,  in  the  Arctic  Sea,  explored  the 
bottom  of  the  sea,  and  dropped  his  lead  to  a  depth  of 
six  thousand  feet,  he  still  brought  up  living  animalcula; 
and  even  at  a  depth  exceeding  the  height  of  our  U)ftiest 
mountains,  the  water  is  alive  with  countless  hosts  of  dimi- 
nutive  phosphoric  creatures,  which,  when  attracted  to  the 


The  Ocean  and  its  Life. 


99 


surface,  convert  every  wave  into  a  crest  of  light,  and  the 
wide  ocean  into  a  sea  of  fire.  It  is  well  known  that  the 
abundance  of  these  minute  beings,  and  of  the  animal  mat- 
ter supplied  by  their  rapid  decomposition,  is  such,  that 
the  sea  water  itself  becomes  a  nutritious  fluid  to  many 
of  the  largest  dwellers  in  the  ocean.  Still,  they  all  have 
their  own  homes,  even  their  own  means  of  locomotion. 
They  are  not  bound  to  certain  regions  of  that  great  country 
below  the  ocean's  waters.  They  travel  far  and  fast ;  cur- 
rents, unknown  to  man,  carry  them,  in  vast  masses,  from 
the  Pole  to  the  Equator,  and  often  from  Pole  to  Pole, 
so  that  the  whale  must  travel,  with  locomotive  speed,  to 
follow  the  medusse  of  the  Arctic  to  the  seas  of  the  An- 
tilles, if  he  will  not  dispense  with  his  daily  food.  How 
strange  a  chase!  The  giant  of  the  seas  racing  in  fu- 
rious haste  after  hardly  visible,  faintly  colored  balls  of 
jelly! 

But,  for  other  purposes,  also,  there  is  incessant  travel 
going  on  in  the  ocean's  hidden  realm.  Water  is  the  true 
and  proper  element  of  motion.  Hence,  we  find  here  the 
most  rapid  journeys,  the  most  constant  changes  from 
zone  to  zone.  No  class  of  animals  travel  so  much  and 
so  regularly  as  fish,  and  nowhere,  in  the  vast  household 
of  nature,  do  we  see  so  clearly  the  close  relation  between 
the  wants  of  man,  and  the  provision  made  for  them  by  a 
bountiful  Providence.  The  first  herrings  that  appeared  in 
the  waters  of  Holland,  used  to  be  paid  for  by  their  weight 
in  gold,  and  a  Japanese  nobleman  spent  more  than  a 
thousand  ducats  for  a  brace  of  common  fish,  when  it  pleased 
his  Japanese  majesty  to  order  a  fish  dinner  at  his  house 


100  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

ill  the  depth  of  winter,  when  all  fish  leave  the  coasts  of 
his  country. 

Now  singly,  now  in  shoals,  fish  are  constantly  seen 
moving  through  the  ocean.  The  delicate  mackerel  travels 
towards  the  south,  the  small,  elegant  sardine  of  the  Medi- 
terranean, moves,  in  spring,  westward,  and  returns  in  fall 
to  the  east.  The  sturgeon  of  northern  seas,  sails  lonely 
up  the  large  rivers  of  the  continent  of  Europe,  and  has 
been  found  in  the  very  heart  of  Germany,  under  the  shadow 
of  the  famous  cathedral  of  Strasburg.  Triangular  masses 
of  salmon  press  up  nearly  all  northern  rivers,  and  are 
sometimes  so  numerous,  so  closely  packed,  that  they  ac- 
tually impede  the  current  of  large  rivers.  Before  their 
arrival,  countless  millions  of  herrings  leave  the  same  wa- 
ters, but  where  their  home  is,  man  has  not  yet  found 
out.  Only  in  the  spring  months  there  suddenly  appear 
vast  banks  of  this  remarkable  fish,  two  or  three  miles 
wide,  and  twenty  to  thirty  miles  long,  and  so  dense  are  the 
crowds,  so  great  their  depth,  that  lances  and  harpoons — 
even  the  sounding  lead — thrown  at  random  amongst  them, 
do  not  sink,  but  remain  standing  upright.  What  numbers 
are  devoured  by  sharks  and  birds  of  prey,  is  not  know^n; 
what  immense  quantities  are  caught  along  the  coast,  to 
be  spread  as  manure  on  the  fields  inland,  is  beyond  all 
calculation ;  and  yet  it  has  been  ascertained  that  over  a 
thousand  millions  alone,  are  annually  salted  for  winter  con- 
sumption ! 

The  life  of  the  ocean  is  gigantic  in  numbers  not  only, 
but  also  in  all  its  dimensions.  Whales  of  a  hundred  feet 
length  and  more,  are  the  largest  of  all  animals  on  earth, 


The  Ocean  and  its  Life. 


101 


five  times  as  long  as  the  elephant,  the  giant  of  the  firm 
land.  Turtles  weighing  a  thousand  pounds,  are  found  in 
more  than  one  sea.  The  rocky  islands  of  the  southern 
Arctic  alone,  furnish  a  yearly  supply  of  a  million  of  sea- 
lions,  sea-cows,  and  seals.  Huge  birds  rise  from  the  foam- 
covered  waves,  their  homes  never  seen  by  human  eye, 
their  young  ones  bred  in  lands  unknown  to  man.  Islands 
are  formed,  and  mountains  raised,  by  the  mere  dung  of 
generations  of  smaller  birds.  And  yet  nature  is  here  also 
greatest  in  her  smallest  creations.  For  how  fine  must,  for 
instance,  be  the  texture  of  sinews  and  muscles,  of  nerves 
and  blood-vessels,  in  animals  that  never  reach  the  size  of 
a  pea,  or  even  a  pin's  head ! 

The  ocean  has  not  only  its  mountains  and  plains,  its 
turf  moors  and  sandy  deserts,  its  rivers  and  sweet  springs, 
gushing  forth  from  hidden  recesses,  and  rising  through  the 
midst  of  salt  water,  but  it  has  also  its  lofty  forests,  with 
luxuriant  parasites,  its  vast  prairies  and  blooming  gardens ; 
landscapes,  in  fine,  fixr  more  gorgeous  and  glorious  than 
all  the  splendor  of  the  firm  land.  It  is  true  that  but 
two  kinds  of  plants,  algce  or  fucus,  prosper  upon  the 
bottom  of  the  sea,  the  one  a  jointed  kind,  having  a 
threadlike  form,  the  other  jointless,  and  comprising  all 
the  species  that  grow  in  submarine  forests,  or  float  like 
green  meadows  in  the  open  sea.  But  their  forms  are  so 
varied,  their  colors  so  brilliant,  their  number  and  size  so 
enormous,  that  they  change  the  deep  into  fabulous  fairy 
gardens.  And,  as  branches  and  leaves  of  firm,  earth-rooted 
trees,  tremble  and  bend  on  the  elastic  waves  of  the  air, 
or  wrestle,  sighing  and  groaning,  with  the  tempest's  fury. 


102 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


so  "  the  seaweed,  slimy  and  dark,  waves  its  arms,  so  lank 
and  brown,"  and  struggles  with  the  ocean,  that  pulls  at 
its  roots,  and  tears  its  leaves  into  shreds.  Now  and  then 
the  mighty  adversary  is  victorious,  and  rends  them  from 
their  home,  when  they  wander  homeless  and  restless,  in 
long,  broad  masses,  towards  the  shores  of  distant  lands, 
where  often  fields  are  found  so  impenetrable,  that  the}' 
have  saved  vessels  from  shipwreck,  and  many  a  human 
life  from  the  hungry  waves. 

These  different  kinds  of  fucus  dwell  in  various  parts  of 
the  ocean,  and  have  their  own,  well-defined  limits.  Some 
cling  with  hand-like  roots  so  firmly  to  the  rocky  ground 
that,  when  strong  waves  pull  and  tear  their  upper  parts, 
they  often  lift  up  gigantic  masses  of  stone,  and  drag  them, 
like  huge  anchors,  for  miles  and  miles.  Most  of  them, 
however,  love  the  coast,  or,  at  least,  a  firm  sea  bottom, 
and  seldom  thrive  lower  than  at  a  depth  of  forty  fathoms. 
Still,  they  are  found  in  every  sea;  the  most  gigantic, 
strangely  enough,  in  the  two  Arctics,  where  they  reach 
the  enormous  length  of  one  thousand  five  hundred  feet. 
Occasionally,  they  cover  vast  portions  of  the  sea,  and  form 
those  fabulous  green  meadows  on  deep,  azure  ground, 
which  struck  terror  in  the  hearts  of  early  navigators.  The 
largest  of  these,  called  the  Sargossa  Sea,  between  the 
Azores  and  the  Antilles,  is  a  huge  floating  garden,  stretch- 
ing, with  a  varying  width  of  one  to  three  hundred  miles, 
over  twenty-five  degrees  of  latitude,  so  that  Columbus 
spent  three  hopeless,  endless  weeks,  in  passing  through 
this  strange  land  of  ocean-prairies ! 

Take  these  fuci  out  of  their  briny  element,  and  they 


The  Ocean  and  its  Life, 


103 


present  you  with  forms  as  whimsical  as  luxuriant.  They 
are,  in  truth,  nothing  more  than  shapeless  masses  of  jelly, 
covered  with  a  leathery  surface,  and  mostly  dividing  into 
irregular  branches,  which  occasionally  end  in  scanty  bunches 
of  real  leaves.  The  first  stem  is  thin  and  dry ;  it  dies 
soon,  but  the  plant  continues  to  grow,  apparently  without 
limit.  A  few  are  eatable.  Off  Ireland  grows  the  Carraghen- 
moss,  with  gracefully  shaped  and  curled  leaves,  which  phy- 
sicians prescribe  for  pectoral  diseases.  Another  kind  of 
sea-fucus  furnishes  the  swallows  of  the  Indian  Sea  with  the 
material  for  their  world-famous  edible  nests.  The  sugar- 
fucus  of  the  Northern  Sea  is  broad  as  the  hand,  thin  as 
a  line,  but  miles  long  ;  well  prepared,  it  gives  the  so-called 
Marma-sugar. 

The  Antarctic  is  the  home  of  the  most  gigantic  of  all 
plants  of  this  kind.  The  bladder-facus  grows  to  a  length 
of  a  thousand  feet  in  the  very  waters  that  are  con- 
stantly congealing,  and  its  long  variegated  foliage  shines  in 
bright  crimson,  or  brilliant  purple.  The  middle  ribs  of 
its  magnificent  leaves  are  supported  underneath  by  huge 
bladders,  which  enable  them  to  sv/im  on  the  surface  of 
the  ocean.  Off  the  Falkland  Islands  a  fucus  is  found 
which  resembles  an  apple-tree ;  it  has  an  upright  trunk, 
with  forked  branches,  grass-like  leaves,  and  an  abundance 
of  fruit.  The  roots  and  stem  cling  by  means  of  clasping 
fibres  to  rocks  above  high-water  mark,  from  them  branches 
shoot  upwards,  and  its  long  pendent  leaves  hang,  like  the 
willow's,  dreamy  and  wo-begone,  in  the  restless  waters. 

Besides  the  countless  varieties  of  fucus,  the  bottom  of 
the  sea  is  overgrown  with  the  curled,  deep  purple  leaves 


104 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


of  tlio  sea-lettuce,  with  large,  porous  lichens,  and  many- 
branched,  hollow  alga),  full  of  life  and  motion  in  their  rosy 
little  bladders,  thickly  set  with  ever-moving,  tiny  arms. 

These  plants  form  sub-marine  forests,  growing  one  into 
another,  in  apparently  lawless  order,  here  interlacing  their 
branches,  there  forming  bowers  and  long  avenues;  at  one 
time  thriving  abundantly  until  the  thicket  seems  impene- 
trable, then  again  leaving  large  openings  between  wold 
and  wold,  where  smaller  plants  form  a  beautiful  pink  turf 
There  a  thousand  hues  and  tinges  shine  and  glitter  in 
each  changing  light.    In  the  exuberance  of  their  luxuriant 
growth,  the  fuci  especially  seem  to  gratify  every  whim 
and  freak.    Creeping  close  to  the  ground,  or  sending  long- 
stretched  arms,  crowned  with  waving  plumes,  up  to  the 
blessed  light  of  heaven,  they  form  pale  green  sea  groves, 
where  there  is  neither  moon  nor  star,  or  rise  up  nearer 
to  the  surface,  to  be  transcendently  rich  and  gorgeous 
in  brightest  green,  gold,  and  purple.     And,  through  this 
dream-like  scene,  playing  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow, 
and  deep  under  the  hollow,  briny  ocean,  there  sail  and 
chase  each  other  merrily,  gaily  painted  mollusks,  and  bright 
shining  fishes.    Snails  of  every  shape  creep  slowly  along 
the  stems,  w^hilst  huge,  gray-haired  seals  hang  with  their 
enormous  tusks  on  large,  tall  trees.    There  is  the  gigantic 
Dugong,  the  siren  of  the  ancients,  the  sidelong  shark  with 
his  leaden  eyes,  the  thick-haired  sea-leopard,  and  the  slug- 
gish turtle.     Look  how  these   strange,  ill-shapen  forms, 
which  ever  keep  their  dreamless  sleep  far  down  in  the 
gloomy  deep,  stir  themselves  from  time  to  time!  See,, 
how  they  drive  each  other  from  their  rich  pastures,  how 


TiiE  Ocean  and  its  Life. 


105 


they  seem  to  awaken  in  storms,  rising  like  islands  from 
beneath,  and  snorting  through  the  angry  spray !  Perhaps 
they  graze  peacefully  in  the  unbroken  cool  of  the  ocean's 
deep  bed,  when  lo  !  a  hungry  shark  comes  slily,  silently 
around  that  grove ;  its  glassy  eyes  shine  ghost-like  with 
a  yellow  sheen,  and  seek  their  prey.  The  sea-dog  first 
becomes  aware  of  his  dreaded  enemy,  and  seeks  refuge 
in  the  thickest  recesses  of  the  fucus  forest.  Jn  an  instant 
the  whole  scene  changes.  The  oyster  closes  its  shell  w^ith 
a  clap,  and  throws  itself  into  the  deep  below  ;  the  turtle 
conceals  head  and  feet  under  her  impenetrable  armor,  and 
sinks  slowly  downward ;  the  playful  little  fish  disappear 
among  the  branches  of  the  macrocystis ;  lobsters  hide  un- 
der the  thick,  clumsily-shapen  roots,  and  the  young  walrus 
alone  turns  boldly  round  and  faces  the  intruder  with  his 
sharp,  pointed  teeth.  The  shark  seeks  to  gain  his  un- 
protected side.  The  battle  commences ;  both  seek  the 
forest;  their  fins  become  entangled  in  the  closely  inter- 
woven branches ;  at  last  the  more  agile  shark  succeeds 
in  wounding  his  adversary's  side.  Despairing  of  life,  the 
bleeding  walrus  tries  to  conceal  his  last  agony  in  the 
woods,  but,  blinded  by  pain  and  blood,  he  fastens  himself 
among  the  branches,  and  soon  falls  an  easy  prey  to  the 
shark,  who  greedily  devours  him. 

A  few  miles  further,  and  the  scene  changes.  Here  lies 
a  large,  undisturbed  oyster  bed,  so  felicitously  styled,  a 
concentration  of  quiet  happiness.  Dormant  though  the 
soft,  glutinous  creatures  seem  to  be,  in  their  impenetrable 
shells,  each  individual  is  leading  the  beautiful  existence 

of  the  epicurean  god.     The  world  without,  its  cares  and 
5* 


106 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


joys,  its  storms  and  calms,  its  passions,  good  and  evil — 
all  are  indifferent  to  the  unheeding  oyster.  Its  whole  soul 
is  concentrated  in  itself ;  its  body  is  throbbing  with  life 
and  enjoyment.  The  mighty  ocean  is  subservient  to  its 
pleasures.  Invisible  to  human  eye,  a  thousand  vibrating 
cilia  move  incessantly  around  every  fibre  of  each  fringing 
leaflet.  To  these  the  rolling  waves  waft  fresh  and  choice 
food,  and  the  flood  of  the  current  feeds  the  oyster,  without 
requiring  an  effort.  Each  atom  of  water  that  comes  in 
contact  with  its  delicate  gills,  gives  out  its  imprisoned  aii, 
to  freshen  and  invigorate  the  creature's  pellucid  blood. 

Here,  in  the  lonely,  weary  sea,  so  restless  and  uneasy, 
we  find,  moreover,  that  strangest  of  all  productions,  half 
vegetable  and  half  animal,  the  coral.  From  the  tree- 
shaped  limestone,  springs  forth  the  sense-endowed  arm  of 
the  polypus ;  it  grows,  it  feeds,  it  produces  others,  and 
then  is  turned  again  into  stone,  burying  itself  in  its  own 
rocky  home,  over  which  new  generations  build  at  on^^ 
new  rocky  homes. 

Thus  grows  the  many-shaped,  far-branched  coral-tree; 
but  where  the  plants  of  the  upper  world  bear  leaves  and 
flowers,  there  germinates  here,  from  out  of  the  stone,  a 
living,  sensitive  animal,  clad  in  the  gay  form  and  bright 
colors  of  flowers,  and  adorned  with  phosphorescent  bril- 
liancy. As  if  in  a  dream  the  animal  polypus  awakens  in 
the  stone  for  a  moment,  and  like  a  dream  it  crystallizes 
again  into  stone.  Yet,  what  no  tree  on  earth,  in  all  its 
vigor  and  beauty,  ever  could  do,  that  is  accomplished  by 
these  strange  animal  trees.  They  build  large,  powerful 
castles,  and   high,  lofty  steeples,  resting   upon   the  very 


The  Ocean  and  its  Like. 


107 


bottom  of  the  ocean,  rising  stone  upon  stone,  and  cemented 
like  no  other  building  on  this  globe. 

For  they  are  a  strange  mysterious  race,  these  "  maidens 
of  the  ocean,"  as  the  old  Greelvs  used  to  call  them.  Their 
beauty  of  form  and  color,  their  marvellous  economy,  their 
gigantic  edifices,  all  had  early  attracted  the  attention  of 
the  curious,  and  given  rise  to  fantastic  fables,  and  amus- 
ing errors.  For  centuries  the  world  believed  that  these 
bright-colored,  delicate  flowers,  which,  out  of  their  element, 
appeared  only  humble,  brown  stones,  were  real,  fragile 
sea-plants,  which  the  contact  with  air  instantaneously  turned 
into  stone.  Even  the  last  century  adhered  yet  to  this 
belief,  and  only  repeated  and  energetic  efforts  succeeded 
in  establishing  their  claim  to  a  place  in  the  animal  king- 
dom. Charles  Darwin,  at  last,  in  the  charming  account 
he  has  given  us  of  his  voyages,  set  all  errors  aside,  and 
made  us  familiar  with  this  most  wondrous  of  all  creatures. 

Now  we  all  know  their  atolls  and  coral-rings,  in  the 
warm  seas  of  the  tropics,  with  the  green  crowns  of  slen- 
der palm-trees  waving  over  them  in  the  breeze,  and  man 
living  securely  in  their  midst.  For  in  vain  has  he  him- 
self tried  to  protect  his  lands  against  the  fury  of  the 
ocean,  in  vain  has  he  labored  and  pressed  all  the  forces 
of  nature,  even  all-powerful  steam,  into  his  service.  But 
the  minute  polypi  work  quietly  and  silently.  Math  mod- 
est industry,  in  their  never-ceasing  struggle  with  the 
mighty  waves  of  the  sea.  A  struggle  it  is,  for,  strangely 
enough,  they  never  build  in  turbid,  never  in  still  waters; 
their  home  is  amid  the  most  violent  breakers,  and  living 
force,  though  so   minute,  triumphs  victoriously  over  the 


108 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


blind,  terrible  might  of  furious  waves.  Thus  they  build, 
year  after  year,  century  after  century,  until  at  last  their 
atolls  inclose  vast  lakes  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean,  where 
eternal  peace  reigns,  undisturbed  by  the  stormy  waves  and 
the  raging  tempest.  But  when  their  marvellous  structure 
reaches  the  surface,  it  rises  no  further,  for  the  polypi  are 
true  children  of  the  deep,  and  as  soon  as  sun  and  air 
touch  them  they  die. 

Like  enchanted  islands,  these  circular  reefs  of  the  corals 
bask  in  the  brightest  light  of  the  tropics.  A  light  green 
ring  incloses  a  quiet  mland  lake,  the  ground  is  white,  and 
being  shallow,  shines  brilliantly  in  the  gorgeous  floods  of 
light,  whilst  without  the  dark,  black  billows  of  the  ocean 
approach  in  a  line  of  breakers,  rushing  incessantly  in  white 
foam  against  the  cliffs;  above  them  an  ever  pure,  deep 
blue  ether;  and  far  beyond,  the  dark  ocean  and  the  hazy 
air  blending  at  the  horizon  and  melting  harmoniously  into 
one  another.  The  effect  is  peculiarly  grand  and  almost 
magical,  when  the  coral  rings  are  under  water,  and  the 
huge,  furious  breakers  toss  up  their  white  crests  in  vast 
circles  around  the  still,  calm  waters  within,  whilst  no  land, 
no  rock  is  seen  to  rise  above  the  surface  of  the  ocean. 

Frequently  large  reefs,  richly  studded  with  graceful  palms, 
surround  on  all  sides  lofty  mountains,  around  whose  foot 
there  grows  a  luxuriant,  tropical  vegetation.  Inside  of 
these  reefs  the  water  is  smooth  and  mirror-like,  basking 
in  the  warm  sunlight ;  without,  there  is  eternal  w^arfare ; 
raging,  foaming  surges  swell  and  rush  in  fierce  attack 
against  the  firm  wall,  besieging  it  year  after  year,  century 
after  century.     Thus,  the  tiny  polypi  protect  proud  man 


The  Ocean  and  its  Life. 


109 


on  his  threatened  island  against  the  destructive  flood : 
polypi  struggling  boldly  against  the  unmeasured  ocean ! 
If  all  the  nations  on  earth  united,  they  could  not  build 
the  smallest  of  these  coral  reefs  in  the  ocean — but  the 
corals  build  a  part  of  the  crust  of  the  great  earth!  For 
their  islands  count  alone  in  the  South  Sea  by  thousands; 
all  but  a  few  feet  above  the  surface  of  the  sea,  which, 
around,  is  unfathomable ;  all  ring-shaped,  with  a  peaceful 
lake  in  the  centre ;  all  consisting  of  no  other  material  but 
that  of  still  living  corals.  These  islands  are  planted  and 
peopled  by  the  same  waves,  by  whom  they  were  raised 
above  high-water  mark.  The  currents  bring  seed  and 
carry  large  living  trees  from  distant  shores ;  lizards  dwell- 
ing in  their  roots,  birds  nestling  in  their  branches,  and 
insects  innumerable  arrive  with  the  tree,  and  water  birds 
soon  give  life  to  the  scanty,  little  strip  of  newly  made 
land. 

Thus  they  meet  below,  plant  and  animal  ;  the  pale, 
hueless  fucus  twining  its  long,  ghastly  arms  around  the 
bright  scarlet  coral,  and  through  their  branches  glides  the 
nautilus  with  wide-spread  sails.  Every  ray  of  light  that 
falls  on  the  surface,  changes  hue  and  tinge  below.  But 
the  deep  has  lights  of  its  own.  There  is  the  glimmer  of 
gorgeous  fish  in  gold  and  silver  armor,  the  phosphorescent 
sheen  of  the  milk-white  or  sky-blue  bells  of  brilliant 
medusae,  as  they  pass  through  the  purple-colored  tops  of 
lofty  fuci,  and  the  bright,  sparkling  light  of  tiny,  gelatinous 
creatures,  chasing  each  other  along  the  blue  and  olive- 
green  hedges  of  algse  and  humbler  plants.  When  day 
fades,  and  night  covers  with  her  dark  mantle  the  sea  also, 


110  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


these  fantastic  gardens  begin  to  shine  in  new,  mysterious 
light;  green,  yellow,  and  red  flames  are  seen  to  kindle 
and  to  fiide  away ;  bright  stars  twinkle  in  every  direction, 
even  the  darkest  recesses  blaze  up  now  and  then,  in  bright 
flashes  of  light,  and  fitful  rays  pass  incessantly  to  and  fro 
in  the  wild,  dark  world  beneath  the  waves.  Broad  fur- 
rows of  flashing  light  mark  the  track  of  the  dolphins 
through  the  midst  of  the  foaming  waters.  Troops  of  por- 
poises are  sporting  about,  and  as  they  cut  through  the 
glistening  flood,  you  see  their  mazy  path  bright  with  in- 
tense and  sparkling  light.  There  also  passes  the  huge 
moonfish,  shedding  a  pale  spectral  light  from  every  fin 
and  scale,  through  the  crowd  of  brilliant  starfish,  whilst 
afar  from  the  coast  of  Ceylon  are  heard  the  soft,  melan- 
choly accents  of  the  singing  mussel,  like  the  distant  notes 
of  an  ^Eolian  harp,  and  yet  louder  than  even  the  breakers 
on  the  rocky  shore.  But  the  great  sea  itself  is  not  silent. 
Listen,  and  you  will  hear  how  the  gray  old  ocean,  heaving 
in  a  gentle  motion,  sings  in  an  undertone,  chiming  in  with 
the  great  melody,  until  ^11  the  sweet  sounds  of  sea,  earth, 
and  air  melt  into  one  low  voice  alone,  that  murmurs  over 
the  weary  sea  and,  low  or  high,  ever  sings  eternal  praise 
to  the  throne  of  Him,  who  "  is  mightier  than  the  noise 
of  many  waters,  yea,  than  the  mighty  waves  of  the  sea." 

The  great  botanist,  Schleiden,  tells  us  how,  ofl"  the  coast 
of  the  island  of  Sitka,  the  bottom  of  the  sea  is  covered 
with  dense  and  ancient  forests,  where  plant  grows  close 
to  plant,  and  branch  intertwines  with  branch.  Below,  there 
lies  a  closely  woven  carpet  of  rich  hues,  made  of  count- 
less threads  of  tiny  waterplants,  red  confervse,  and  brown- 


The  Ocean  and  its  Life. 


Ill 


rooted  mosses,  each  branching  off  into  a  thousand  finely 
traced  leaves.  On  this  soft  couch  the  luxuriant  sea-lettuce 
spreads  its  broad,  elegant  leaves,  a  rich  pasture  for  peaceful 
snails,  and  sluggish  turtles.  Between  them  shine  the  gi- 
gantic leaves  of  the  irides  in  brilliant  scarlet  or  delicate 
pink,  whilst  along  reef  and  cliff  the  dark  olive-green  fuci 
hang  in  rich  festoons,  and  half  cover  the  magnificent  sea- 
rose  in  its  unsurpassed  beauty.  Like  tall  trees  the  lami- 
naria  spread  about,  waving  in  endless  broad  ribbons  along 
the  currents,  and  rising  high  above  the  dense  crowd. 
Alaria  send  up  their  long  naked  stems,  which  at  last  ex- 
pand into  a  huge,  unsightly  leaf  of  more  than  fifty  feet  in 
length.  But  the  sea-forest  boasts  of  still  loftier  trees,  for 
the  nereocysti  rise  to  a  height  of  seventy  feet ;  beginning 
with  a  coral-shaped  root,  they  grow  up  in  a  thin,  thread- 
like trunk,  which  gradually  thickens,  until  its  club-shaped 
form  grows  into  an  enormous  bladder,  from  the  top  of 
which,  like  a  crest  on  a  gigantic  helmet,  there  waves 
proudly  a  large  bunch  of  delicate  but  immense  leaves. 
These  are  the  palms  of  the  ocean,  and  these  forests  grow, 
as  by  magic,  in  a  few  months,  cover  the  bottom  of  the 
sea  with  a  most  luxuriant  growth,  and  then  wither  and 
vanish,  only  to  reappear  soon  again  in  greater  richness 
and  splendor.  And  what  crowds  of  strange,  ill-shapen, 
and  unheard  of  moUusks,  fish,  and  shellfish  move  among 
them  !  Here  they  are  huge  balls,  there  many  cornered 
or  starlike,  then  again  long  streaming  ribbons.  Some  are 
armed  with  large,  prominent  teeth,  others  with  sharp  saws, 
whilst  a  few,  when  pursued,  make  themselves  invisible  by 
emitting  a  dark  vapor-like  fluid.     Here,  glassy,  colorless 


112  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

eyes  stare  at  you  with  dull,  imbecile  light — there,  deep 
blue  or  black  eyes  glare  with  almost  human  sense  and 
unmistakable  cunning.  Through  bush  and  through  thicket 
there  glide  the  hosts  of  fierce,  gluttonous  robbers  who  fill 
the  vast  deep.  But  not  only  the  animals  of  the  ocean 
pasture  and  hunt  there ;  man  also  stretches  out  his  covetous 
hand  and  demands  his  share. 

Proud  ships  with  swelling  sails  disdain  not  to  arrest 
their  bird-like  flight,  to  carry  off  vast  fucus  forests  which 
they  have  torn  up  from  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  in  order 
to  manufacture  kelp  or  iodine  from  the  ashes,  or  to  fish 
at  the  peril  of  their  lives  for  bright  corals  in  the  depth. 
In  the  streets  of  Edinburgh  the  cry  of  "  buy  pepper-dulse 
and  tangle"  is  heard  in  our  day,  and  the  Irish  fisherman 
boldly  faces  death  to  snatch  a  load  of  Carraghen-moss 
from  the  rapid  current.  The  poor  peasant  of  Normandy 
gathers  the  vast  heaps  of  decaying  fuci,  which  wind  and 
wave  have  driven  to  his  shore,  in  order  to  carry  them 
painfully,  miles  and  miles,  as  manure  to  his  fields,  and 
the  so-called  sheep-fucus  supports  the  flocks  and  herds  of 
cattle  in  many  a  northern  island  in  Scotland  and  in  Nor- 
way, through  their  long,  dreary  winters.  The  men  of 
Iceland  and  of  Greenland  diligently  grind  some  farinaceous 
kind  of  fucus  into  flour,  and  subsist,  with  their  cattle,  upon 
this  strange  food  for  many  months,  whilst  their  wives 
follow  Paris  fashion,  and  rouge  themselves  with  the  red 
flower  of  the  purple  fucus. 

Here,  however,  one  of  the  great  mysteries  which  the 
ocean  suggests,  often  startles  the  thinking  observer.  For 
whom  did  the  Almighty  create  all  this  wealth  of  beauty 


The  Ocean  and  its  Life. 


113 


and  splendor?  Why  did  He  conceal  the  greatest  wonders, 
the  most  marvellous  creations  of  nature  under  that  azure 
veil,  the  mirror-like  surface  of  which  reflects  nearly  every 
ray  of  light,  and  mostly  returns,  as  if  in  derision,  the 
searcher's  own  face  as  his  only  reward  ? 

But  because  all  the  varied  forms,  all  the  minute  details 
are  not  seen,  is  therefore  the  impression,  which  the  ocean 
produces  on  our  mind,  less  striking  or  less  permanent'? 
We  count  not  the  stars  in  heaven,  we  see  even  but  a 
small  number  of  all,  and  yet  the  starry  sky  has  never 
failed  to  lift  up  the  mind  of  man  to  his  Maker.  So  with 
the  ocean.  His  way  is  in  the  sea,  and  His  path  in  the 
great  waters.  The  voice  of  the  Lord  is  upon  the  waters ; 
the  Lord  is  upon  many  waters.  From  olden  times  the 
ocean  has  ever  been  to  the  nations  of  the  earth  the  type 
of  all  that  is  great,  powerful,  infinite.  All  the  fictions 
of  the  Orient  and  Eastern  India,  all  the  myths  of  Greece 
of  the  "earth-embracing  Okeanus,"  and  even  the  Jewish 
tradition  that  "the  earth  was  without  form  and  void,  and 
the  spirit  of  God  moved  upon  the  face  of  the  waters," 
speak  of  the  sea  as  the  great  source  of  all  life,  the  very 
dwelling-place  of  the  Infinite. 

There  are  nations  who  never  see  the  ocean.  How  dream- 
like, how  fantastic  are  their  ideas  of  the  unknown  world! 
German  poetry  abounds  with  wild,  fanciful  dreams  of  mer- 
maids and  mermen,  and  even  the  sailor-nation  has  its  fa- 
vorite legends  of  the  Ancient  Mariner,  and  a  Tennyson 
has  sung  of  fabled  mermen  and  their  loves.  But  truly  has 
it  been  said  that  "they  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships, 


J.  14  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

that  do  business  in  great  waters,  these  see  the  works  of 
Jehovah  and  his  wonders  in  the  deep." 

Uniform  and  monotonous  as  the  wide  ocean  often  ap- 
pears, it  has  its  clianges,  and  is  now  mournful,  now  cheery 
and  bright.  Only  when  the  wind  is  lulled  and  a  calm 
has  soothed  the  angry  waves,  can  the  ocean  be  seen  in 
its  quiet  majesty.  But  the  aspect  is  apt  to  be  dreary 
and  lonely ;  whether  we  see  the  dark  waves  of  the  sea 
draw  lazily  in  and  out  of  rocky  riffs,  or  watch  wearily 
the  sea's  perpetual  swing,  the  melancholy  wash  of  end- 
'  less  waves."  Away  from  the  land  there  is  nothing  so  full 
of  awe  and  horror  as  a  perfectly  calm  sea :  man  is  spell- 
bound, a  magic  charm  seems  to  chain  him  to  the  glassy 
and  transparent  waters;  he  cannot  move  from  the  fatal 
spot,  and  death,  slow,  fearful,  certain  death,  stares  him  in 
the  face.  He  trembles  as  his  despairing  gaze  meets  the 
upturned,  leaden  eye  of  the  shark,  patiently  waiting  for 
him,  or  as  he  hears,  far  below,  the  sigh  of  some  grim 
monster,  slowly  shifting  on  his  uneasy  pillow  of  brine. 
Fancy  knows  but  one  picture  more  dreadful  yet  than  tem- 
pest, shipwreck,  or  the  burning  of  a  vessel  out  at  sea : 
it  is  a  ship  on  the  great  ocean  in  a  calm,  with  no  hope 
for  a  breeze.  Wild  and  waste  is  the  view.  On  the  .same 
sunshine,  on  the  same  waves  the  poor  mariners  gaze  day 
by  day  with  languid  eye,  even  until  the  heart  is  sick  and 
the  body  perishes. 

At  other  times  it  is  the  gladsome  ocean,  full  of  proud 
ships,  of  merry  waves,  and  ceaseless  motion,  that  greet  the 
eye.  Then  the  wild,  shoreless  sea,  on  which  the  waves 
have  rolled   for  thousands  of  years  in  unbroken  might, 


The  Ocean  and  its  Life. 


115 


fills  the  mind  with  the  idea  of  infinity,  and  thought,  escap. 
ing  from  all  visible  impression  of  space  and  time,  rises 
to  sublimest  contemplations.  Yet,  the  sight  of  the  clear, 
transparent  mirror  of  the  ocean,  with  its  light,  curling, 
sportive  waves,  cheers  the  heart  like  that  of  a  friend,  and 
reminds  us  that  here,  as  upon  the  great  sea  of  life,  even 
when  the  wrecked  mariner  has  been  cast  among  the  raging 
billows,  an  unseen  hand  has  often  guided  him  to  a  happy 
shore.  For  He  raleth  the  raging  of  the  sea :  when  the 
waves  thereof  rise.  He  stilleth  them. 

This  sense  of  the  Infinite,  suggested  and  awakened  by 
the  vast  expanse  of  restless  and  uneasy  waters  is,  however, 
not  unmixed  with  a  feeling  of  deep  mysterious  awe.  The 
mind  cannot  seize  nor  comprehend  this  boundless  gran- 
deur ;  hence  its  mysteriousness.  The  eye  cannot  see,  no 
sense  can,  in  fact,  perceive  the  connection  between  the  stu- 
pendous phenomena  on  the  wide  ocean  and  the  fate  of 
man.  To  human  eyes  the  surging  billows  and  the  tower- 
ing waves  are  both  raised  by  an  invisible,  unknown  power, 
and  their  depth  is  peopled  with  beings  uncouth,  ungov- 
erned,  and  unknown.  The  sea  is  lonely,  the  sea  is  dreary, 
like  a  wide,  watery  waste,  compared  with  the  gay,  bright 
colors  of  the  land,  and  the  might  of  gigantic  waves  that 
rush  from  age  to  age  against  the  bulwarks  of  continent 
and  isle,  seems  irresistible  and  able  to  destroy  the  world's 
foundation.  Thus  the  ocean  awakens  in  us  feelings  of  dark 
mystery  and  grim  power ;  the  Infinite  carries  us  off  beyond 
the  limits  of  familiar  thought,  and  the  sea  becomes  the 
home  of  fabled  beings  and  weird  images.  All  sea-shore 
countries  teem  with  such  stories,  legends  and  traditions ; 


116  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


the  fickle  sea,  the  envious  ocean,  the  fierce,  hungry  waves, 
the  furious  breakers,  all  become  the  representatives  of  so 
many  human  passions.  Our  fancy  peoples  the  ocean  with 
sweet,  luring  sirens,  endowed  with  magic  power  to  weave 
a  spell  and  to  draw  the  yielding  mariner  down  to  the 
green  crystal  halls  beneath  the  waves.  There  sea-kings 
and  morgana  fairies  live  in  enchanted  palaces ;  monsters 
of  unheard  size  and  shape  flit  ghost-like  through  that  dark, 
mysterious  realm,  and  huge  snakes  trail  themselves  slowly 
from  "their  coiled  sleep  in  the  central  deep,  amidst  all 
the  dry  pied  things  that  lie  in  the  hueless  mosses  under 
the  sea."  The  bewildered  and  astounded  mind  tries,  in 
his  own  way,  to  connect  the  great  phenomena  of  nature 
with  his  fite  and  the  will  of  the  Almighty.  It  sees  in 
homeless,  restless  birds  the  harbingers  of  the  coming  storm, 
in  flying  fishes  the  spirits  of  wrecked  seamen,  and  points 
to  the  riying  Dutchman  and  the  Ancient  Mariner  as  illus- 
trations of  the  justice  of  God's  wrath. 

The  strong  mind,  the  believing  soul,  of  course,  shake 
off  all  such  idle  dreams  and  vain  superstitions.  To  them 
the  sea  is  the  very  source  of  energy  and  courage.  The 
life  at  sea  is  a  life  of  unceasing  strife  and  struggle.  Hence 
all  sea-faring  nations  are  warlike,  fond  of  adventures,  and 
poetical.  But  the  sea's  greatest  charm  is,  after  all,  its 
freedom.  The  free,  unbounded  ocean,  where  man  feels  no 
restraint,  sees  no  narrow  limits,  where  he  must  rely  upon 
his  own  stout  heart,  strong  in  fiiith,  where  he  is  alone 
with  his  great  Father  in  heaven,  gives  him  a  sense  of 
his  own  freedom  and  strength,  like  no  other  part  of  the 
earth,  and  makes  him  return  to  the  sea,  its  perils  and 


The  Ocean  and  its  Life. 


117 


sufferings,  in  spite  of  all  the  peace  and  happiness  that  the 
land  can  afford  him.  lie  knows  that  even  if  he  dwell  in 
the  uttermost  parts  of  the  sea,  even  there  shall  His  hand 
lead  him  and  His  right  hand  shall  hold  him. 


118 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


IV. 


%  C|at  about  |laiits. 


"  If  we  could  open  and  unbind  our  eyes, 
"We  all,  like  Moses,  should  espj--, 

E'en  in  a  bush,  the  radiant  Deity. 

But  we  despise  these,  his  inferior  ways, 

(Tho'  no  less  full  of  miracle  and  praise): 
Upon  the  flowers  of  heaven  we  gaze; 

The  stars  of  earth  no  wonder  in  us  raise, 
Tho'  these  perhaps  do,  more  than  they, 
The  life  of  mankind  sway/"— Cowley. 


ONG  years  ago  I  was  in  the  Holy  Land.    It  was  the 


last  day  I  was  to  spend  near  Jerusalem,  and  as  the 
sun  sank  towards  the  blue  waters  of  the  Mediterranean, 
I  found  myself  once  more  sitting  on  the  banks  of  the 
Jordan.  The  air  was  perfectly  calm ;  the  tolling  of  a  con- 
vent bell  came  fliintly  over  the  plain  from  Bethlehem,  and 
mingled  its  well-beat  cadences  with  the  gentle,  playful  mur- 
muring of  the  sacred  stream  at  my  feet.  By  my  side  sat 
an  Arab,  tranquilly  following  with  his  eye  the  light  clouds 
of  his  pipe,  as  they  gracefully  rose  up  in  the  clear,  blue 
ether,  but  apparently  buried  in  deep  thought.    I  had  known 


^      A  Chat  about  Plants. 


IVJ 


him  in  his  desert  home,  I  had  eaten  his  salt.  He  was  a 
Sheikh,  and  revered  as  a  saint  among  his  brethren.  He 
had  now  come  with  me^from  the  far  south,  first  my  guide, 
but  now  my  friend  and  companion.  Abu  Abdallah  was 
his  name;  so  I  said,  "Abu  Abdallah,  do  you  believe  in 
God?"  "Thou  sayest  it,  oh  brother!"  was  his  quiet  an- 
sw^er.  "But  Abu  Abdallah,  I  fear  you  do  not  believe 
that  your  soul  is  immortal ;"  for  the  old  Arab,  though  my 
friend  for  the  while,  was  a  sad  thief,  and  when  he  swiftly 
rode  through  the  desert,  there  vrere  voices  heard,  it  was 
said,  mournful  voices  of  men,  who  called  for  the  sweet 
life  he  had  taken  from  them.  He  gazed  at  me  for  an 
instant  from  the  depth  of  that  unfathomable  eye,  the  pre- 
cious heirloom  of  a  son  of  the  Orient,  but  vouchsafed  not 
a  word.  I  was  struck  by  his  silence,  and  asked  again, 
"  Oh  brother,  oh  brother,  thou  wTongest  me  I"  he  said,  and 
quietly  rising,  he  seized  upon  a  little  shapeless  mass,  that 
lay  half  hid  in  the  fragrant  herbs  at  our  feet,  and  gently 
pushing  it  into  the  purling  stream,  he  added :  "  Has  not 
the  God  of  our  fathers,  whose  prophet  is  Mahomet,  given 
us  the  Rose  of  Jericho  ?  And  does  not  my  brother,  wdio 
reads  the  books  of  the  wise  men  of  the  Franks,  know  that 
the  burning  sands  of  the  desert  are  its  home,  and  that 
it  delights  in  the  fiery  wunds  of  the  Avest,  which  scatter 
the  caravan,  and  strew  the  sands  of  the  Sahara  with  the 
bones  of  the  traveller  1  There  it  grows  and  blossoms,  and 
our  children  love  it.  But  the  season  comes  again,  and  it 
withers  and  dies.  And  the  dread  simoom  rises,  and  seizes 
the  dry,  shrivelled  roots,  that  my  brother  beholds  there, 
and  on  the  wings  of  the  temr-i-^t  the  Rose  of  Jericho  rides 


120 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


far  far  east,  until  it  falls  upon  holy  soil.  Now  let  my 
brother  wait  and  he  shall  see !" 

And  we  did  wait,  waited  until  the  shadows  grew  long, 
and  dreamy  dusk  co veered  mountain  and  plain.  And  the 
little  shapeless  mass  became  a  miracle  indeed,  and  right 
before  our  eyes !  The  roots  had  expanded,  the  leaves  had 
unfolded,  life  and  breath  had  returned  to  the  dead  child 
of  the  Sahara,  and  the  very  blossoms  began  to  show,  and 
to  rival  the  faint  rosy  tints  of  the  evening  sun ! 

I  inever  forgot  that  lesson  of  immortality — I  never 
forgot  that  Rose  of  Jericho.  On  my  return  to  Eu- 
rope I  learned  that  botanists  called  it  "  Anastatica,"  the 
flower  of  resurrection.  I  wished  to  know  more  about 
it,  and  that  was  the  way  I  first  learned  something  about 
plants. 

I  found  botany  very  little  attractive — very  little  de- 
serving of  its  ancient  name  of  the  "  lovely  science."  1 
found  that  botanists  would  go  out  into  the  fields,  their  text- 
books in  their  pockets,  and  gather  the  tender  children  of 
Flora  into  huge  maps,  then  dry  them  and  classify  them, 
describe  their  head-dress  and  uniform,  their  rank  and  dig- 
nity, and  finally  deposit  them  in  magnificent  herbariums. 
There  they  were,  well,  dried  and  well  pasted,  clad,  to  be 
sure,  in  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  high-sounding 
names — so  much  Latin  hay.  But  where  was  their  color 
and  graceful  shape?  where  the  breath  of  air  that  made 
them  gently  wave  to  and  fro  1  where  the  sweet  perfumes 
they  gratefully  sent  up  to  their  ]\Iaker  ?  where  the  bright 
water  at  their  side,  in  which  they  reflected  their  lovely 
form*?  where  the  whole  glorious  scene  for  which  they  were 


A  CiiAT  ABOUT  Plants. 


121 


intended  by  Nature,  and  to  which  they  lent,  in  return,  lifo 
and  beauty? 

Botanists  of  old  collected  the  material  only — not  without 
bestowing  unceasing  industry  upon  it,  not  without  making 
unheard  of  sacrifices,  often  of  the  very  lives  of  devoted 
laborers  in  that  field  of  science — but  they  were  content 
with  a  form  only  and  a  name.  They  were  like  the  French 
ofiicer  who,  in  one  of  the  French  revolutions,  came  to 
Kome,  and  there  had  the  good  fortune  to  discover  a  highly 
important  inscription  on  a  monument,  dating  far  back  into 
antiquity.  Proudly,  and  carefully,  he  detached  one  bronze 
letter  after  another,  then  slipped  them,  all  loosely,  into  a 
bag,  and  sent  them  to  the  antiquarians  of  Paris  to  be 
deciphered. 

But  there  have  arisen,  within  the  last  thirty  years  es- 
pecially, men  w^ho  have  studied  plants  with  the  view,  not 
only  to  know  who  they  were,  but  rather  what  they  were, 
how  they  lived  and  how  they  died,  what  their  relation 
was  to  the  world,  and  what  their  purpose  in  the  great 
household  of  Nature.  Kindred  sciences  have  lent  their 
aid ;  the  microscope  has  laid  open  the  innermost  recesses 
of  plants ;  travellers  have  brought  home  new,  comprehen- 
sive views,  and  an  insight  has  at  last  been  gained  into 
the  life  of  the  world  of  plants.  Great,  startling  discoveries 
have  there  been  made,  new  truths  and  new  beauties  have 
been  revealed  to  us,  and  natural  science  has  unfolded  the 
most  delicate  resources  and  most  curious  relations  in  the 
vegetable  kingdom. 

Thus  w^e  have  learned,  that  it  is  a  fallacy — to  be  sure 
as  old  as  botany  itself — that  plants  have  no  motion.  Aris- 
G 


122 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


totle,  it  is  true,  had  a  curious  idea,  that  they  were  buried 
in  deep  slumber,  out  of  which  nothing  could  awake  them, 
and  that  thus,  by  a  kind  of  enchantment,  they  were  spell- 
bound, until  the  great  word  should  be  spoken,  that  was 
to  restore  them  to  life  and  motion.  Modern  science  also 
teaches  that  the  characteristic  of  organic  bodies  is  inde- 
pendent motion,  that  of  inorganic,  rest.  But  plants  have 
both  life  and  motion  ;  we  dare  not,  as  yet,  say  whether 
it  be  the  effect  of  a  mere  dream,  of  a  mechanical  pressure 
from  without,  or  of  instinctive  life  within.  For  what  do 
we  as  yet  know  of  the  simplest  functions  of  the  inner 
life  of  plants'?  Who  has  not,  however,  observed  how  the 
pale  sap  courses  now  through  the  colossal  stems  of  gigantic 
trees,  and  now  through  the  delicate  veins  of  a  frail  leaf, 
as  rapidly  and  marvellously  as  through  the  body  of  a 
man?  Take  a  microscope  and  you  will  see  the  plant  full 
of  life  and  motion.  All  its  minute  cells  are  filled  with 
countless  little  currents,  now  rotary  and  now  up  and  down, 
often  evefn  apparently  lawless,  but  always  distinctly  marked 
by  tiny  grains  which  are  seen  to  turn  in  them  or  to  rise 
without  ceasing.  In  this  world  nothing  is  motionless,  says 
a  modern  philosopher.  Let  the  air  be  so  still,  that  not  a 
breath  shall  be  felt  to  creep  through  it,  and  yet  the  forest 
leaves  will  seem  stirred  as  if  in  silent  prayer.  The  earth 
moves  small  things  and  great,  all  obey  the  same  law,  and 
the  little  blade  of  grass  goes  around  the  sun  as  swiftly 
as  the  tallest  pine.  The  very  shadow  dances,  as  if  in  idle 
mockery,  around  the  immovable  flower,  and  marks  the 
passing  hours  of  sunshine. 

But  plants  move  not  only  where  they  stand — they  travel 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


123 


also.  They  migrate  from  land  to  land,  sometimes  slowly, 
inch  by  inch,  then  again  on  the  wings  of  the  storm.  Bot- 
anists tell  us  of  actual  migrations  of  plants,  and  a  sue 
cessive  extension  of  the  domain  of  particular  floras,  jus/ 
as  we  speak  of  the  migration  of  idioms  and  races.  In 
dividual  plants,  however,  travel  only  as  man  ought  to 
travel,  when  they  are  young.  If  they  have  once  found 
a  nome,  they  «;ettle  quietly  down,  grow,  blossom,  and  bear 
fruit.  Therefore  /t  is,  that  plants  travel  only  in  the  seed. 
For  this  purpose,  seeds  possess  often  special  organs  for 
a  long  journey  through  the  air.  Sometimes  they  are  put, 
like  small  bombshells,  into  little  mortars,  and  fired  off 
with  great  precision.  Thus  arise  the  well-known  emerald 
rings  on  our  greensward,  and  on  the  vast  prairies  of  the 
West,  which  some  ascribe  to  electricity,  whilst  the  poet 
loves  to  see  in  them  traces  of  the  moonlight  revels  of 
fairies.  The  truth  is  scarcely  less  poetical.  A  small  cir 
cular  fungus  squats  down  on  a  nice  bit  of  turf  It  pros- 
pers and  fills  with  ripening  seed.  When  it  matures,  it 
discharges  its  tiny  balls  in  a  circle  all  around,  and  then 
sinks  quietly  in  the  ground  and  dies.  Another  season, 
and  its  place  is  marked  by  an  abundance  of  luxuriant 
grass,  feeding  upon  its  remains,  whilst  around  it  a  whole 
ring  of  young  fungi  have  begun  to  flourish.  They  die 
in  their  turn,  and  so  the  circle  goes  on  enlarging  and 
enlarging,  shifting  rapidly  because  fungi  exhaust  the  soil 
soon  of  all  matter  necessary  for  their  growth,  and  closely 
followed  by  the  rich  grass,  that  fills  up  their  place,  and 
prevents  them  from  ever  retracing  their  steps. 

A  similar   irritability  enables   other  plants   to  scatter 


124  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

their  seeds  far  and  near,  by  means  of  springs  bent  back, 
until  a  breath  of  wind,  a  falling  leaf,  or  the  wing  of  an 
insect,  causes  them  to  rebound,  and  thus  to  send  the  pollen 
with  which  they  are  loaded  often  to  a  great  distance.  The 
so-called  Touch-me-not  balsam  scatters  its  ripe  seeds,  by 
such  a  contrivance,  in  all  directions,  and  the  squirting  cu- 
cumber is  furnished,  for  the  same  purpose,  with  a  complete 
fire-engine.  Some  of  the  geraniums,  also,  of  our  green- 
houses have  their  fruit-vessels  so  curiously  constructed,  that 
the  mere  contact  with  another  object,  and  frequently  the 
heat  of  the  sun  alone,  suffice  to  detach  the  carpels,  one 
by  one,  with  a  snapping  sound,  and  so  suddenly  as  to 
cause  a  considerable  jerk,  which  sends  the  seeds  far  away- 
Other  fruit-vessels  again  have,  as  is  well  known,  con- 
trivances the  most  curious  and  ingenious,  by  which  they 
press  every  living  thing  that  comes  near  them  into  their 
service,  and  make  it  convey  them  whithersoever  they 
please.  Every  body  is  familiar  with  the  bearded  varie- 
ties of  wheat  and  other  grain ;  they  are  provided  with 
little  hooks,  which  they  cunningly  insert  into  the  wool  or 
hair  of  grazing  cattle,  and  thus  they  are  carried  about 
until  they  find  a  pleasant  place  for  their  future  home. 
Some  who  do  not  like  to  obtain  services  thus  by  hook 
and  crook,  succeed  by  pretended  friendship,  sticking  closely 
to  their  self-chosen  companions.  They  cover  their  little 
seeds  with  a  most  adhesive  glue,  and  when  the  busy  bee 
comes  to  gather  honey  from  their  sweet  blossoms,  which 
they  jauntily  hang  out  to  catch  the  unwary  insect,  the  seeds 
adhere  to  its  body,  and  travel  thus  on  four  fine  wings 
through  the  wide,  wide  world.     Bee  fanciers  know  very 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


125 


well  the  common  disease  of  their  sweet  friends,  when  so 
much  pollen  adheres  to  their  head  that  they  cannot  fly, 
and  must  miserably  perish,  one  by  one,  under  the  heavy 
burden  which  these  innocent-looking  plants  have  compelled 
them  to  carry.  We  have  but  little  knowledge  as  yet  of 
the  activity  of  life  in  the  vegetable  world,  and  of  its  mo- 
mentous influence  on  the  welfare  of  our  own  race.  Few 
only  know  that  the  gall-fly  of  Asia  Minor  decides  on  the 
existence  of  ten  thousands  of  human  beings.  As  our  clip- 
pers and  steamers  carry  the  produce  of  the  land  from 
continent  to  continent,  so  these  tiny  sailors  of  the  air  per- 
form, under  the  direction  of  Divine  Providence,  the  im- 
portant duty  of  carrying  pollen,  or  fertilizing  dust,  from 
fig-tree  to  fig-tree.  Without  pollen  there  can  be  no  figs, 
and,  consequently,  on  their  activity  and  number  depends 
the  productiveness  of  these  trees;  they,  therefore,  regulate 
in  fact  the  extensi-ve  and  profitable  fig  trade  of  Smyrna. 
A  little,  ugly  beetle  of  Kamschatka  has,  in  like  manner, 
more  than  once  saved  the  entire  population  of  the  most 
barren  part  of  Greenland  from  apparently  certain  starva- 
tion. He  is  a  great  thief  in  his  way,  and  a  most  fastidious 
gourmand,  moreover.  Nothing  will  satisfy  him  on  a  long 
winter  evening — and  we  must  charitably  bear  in  mind  that 
these  evenings  sometimes  last  five  months  without  inter- 
ruption— but  a  constant  supply  of  lily  bulbs.  The  lilies 
are  well  content  with  this  arrangement,  for  the  being  eaten 
is  as  natural  to  them  as  to  a  Feejee-islander ;  and  they 
are,  as  compensation,  saved  from  being  crowded  to  death 
in  a  narrow  space,  whilst  those  that  escape  the  little  glut- 
ton, shoot  up  merrily,  next  summer,  in  rich  pastures.  Still 


126  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

better  content  are  the  Greenlanders ;  for,  when  their  last 
mouthful  of  meat,  and  their  last  drop  of  train-oil  are  gone, 
they  dig  and  rob  the  little,  provident  beetle  of  his  care- 
fully hoarded  treasure,  and,  by  its  aid,  n.anage  to  live  until 
another  season.  It  is  thus  that  we  see  every  where  the 
beautiful  and  close  bonds  of  love  connecting  even  those 
parts  of  creation  which  seem  to  be  without  sense  or  volun- 
tary motion,  humble  subjects  of  their  masters,  the  elements, 
and  which  yet  respond  to  the  action  of  those  mysterious 
powers,  that  rule,  under  God,  in  nature.  The  flower  opens 
its  gorgeous  chalice,  filled  with  rich  honey,  to  the  tiny 
insect ;  the  insect,  in  return,  carries  the  fructifying  pollen 
to  the  flower's  distant  mate,  and  thus  propagates  it  anew. 
The  herbs  of  the  field  send  forth  their  luxuriant  tufts 
of  leaves  for  the  browsing  cattle,  and  sheep  and  oxen 
carry  the  seed  in  their  hides  from  meadow  to  meadow. 
The  trees  themselves,  pknted  by  stones  that  birds  have 
dropped,  grow  and  flourish  until  "  they  are  strong,  and  the 
height  thereof  reaches  unto  heaven,  and  the  beasts  of  the 
field  have  shadow  under  it,  and  (he  fowls  of  heaven  dwell 
in  the  boughs  thereof." 

When  neither  quadruped  nor  insect  can  be  coaxed  or 
forced  to  transport  the  young  seed^  that  wish  to  see  the 
world,  they  sometimes  launch  forth  on  their  own  account, 
and  trust  to  a  gentle  breeze  or  a  light  current  of  air, 
rising  from  the  heated  surflice  of  the  earth.  It  is  true, 
nature  has  given  them  wings  to  fly  with,  such  as  man 
never  yet  was  skilful  enough  to  devise  for  his  own  use. 
The  maple — our  maple,  I  mean — has  genuine  little  wings, 
with  which  it  flies  merrily  about  in  its  early  days ;  others, 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


127 


like  the  dandelion  and  the  anemone,  have  light  downy  ap- 
pendages, or  little  feathery  tutlts  and  crowns,  by  which  they 
are  floated  along  on  the  lightest  breath  of  air,  and  enjoy, 
io  their  heart's  content,  long  autumnal  wanderings.  These 
airy  appendages  are  marvellously  well  adapted  for  the 
special  purpose  of  each  plant:  some  but  just  large  enough 
to  waft  the  tiny  grain  up  the  height  of  a  molehill,  others 
strong  enough  to  carry  the  seed  of  the  cedar  from  the 
low  valley  to  the  summit  of  Mount  Lebanon.  The  proudest 
princes  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  often  depend  for  their 
continuance  on  these  little  feathery  tufts,  which  but  few 
observers  are  apt  to  notice.  A  recent  writer  tells  us  that, 
some  years  ago,  the  only  palm-tree  the  city  of  Paris 
could  then  boast  of,  suddenly  blossomed.  Botanists  were 
at  a  loss  how  to  explain  the  apparent  miracle,  and  sceptics 
began  to  sneer,  and  declared  that,  the  laAvs  of  nature  had 
failed.  An  advertisement  appeared  in  the  papers,  inquiring 
for  the  unknown  mate  of  the  solitary  tree.  And  behold, 
in  an  obscure  court-yard  away  off,  there  had  lived,  un- 
known and  unnoticed,  another  small  palm ;  it  also  had 
blossomed  apparently  alone  and  in  vain — but  a  gentle 
breeze  had  come,  and  carried  its  flower-dust  to  its  dis- 
tant companion,  and  the  first  palm-flowers  ever  seen  in  ^ 
France  were  the  result  of  this  unseen  mediation. 

Reckless  wanderers,  also,  there  are  among  the  plants, 
who  waste  their  substance,  and  wildly  rove  about  in  the 
world.  The  rose  of  Jericho,  which  we  have  already  no- 
ticed, and  a  club-moss  of  Peru,  are  such  erratic  idlei's  that 
wander  from  land  to  land.  When  they  have  blossomed 
and  borne  fruit,  and  when   the  dry  season  comes,  they 


128 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


wither,  fold  their  leaves  together,  and  draw  up  their  roots, 
so  as  to  form  a  light,  little  ball.  In  this  form  they  are 
driven  hither  and  thither  on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  rolling 
along  the  plains  in  spirit-like  dance,  now  whirling  in  great 
circles  about,  now  caught  by  an  eddy  and  rising  suddenly 
high  into  the  air.  It  is  not  until  they  reach  a  moist 
place  that  they  care  to  rest  a  while,  but  then  they  settle 
down  at  once,  send  down  their  roots,  unfold  their  leaves, 
assume  a  bright  green,  and  become  quiet,  useful  citizens 
in  their  own  great  kingdom  of  plants. 

There  are,  however,  thousands  of  plants  having  neither 
servants  nor  wings  to  gratify  their  wishes,  who  seem  con- 
demned to  see  their  offspring  die  at  their  feet.  But  here 
again  we  see  how  the  resources  of  nature  are  always  far 
superior  to  the  apparent  difficulty.  These  very  seeds  which 
seemed  so  hopelessly  lost,  often  travel  flistest  of  all ;  they 
travel  on  the  wings  of  birds.  The  latter  steal  our  fruit, 
our  cherries  and  grapes ;  they  carry  them  off  to  some  con- 
venient place,  eat  the  pulpy  part,  and  drop  the  stone  or 
the  seed  where  it  is  most  likely  to  find  a  genial  soil  and 
a  sheltered  home.  Even  their  evil  propensities  must  thus 
serve  the  purposes  of  nature.  Jays  and  pies,  it  is  well 
known,  are  fond  of  hiding  grains  and  acorns  among  grass 
or  moss  and  in  the  ground,  and  then,  poor  things,  forget 
the  hiding  place,  and  lose  all  their  treasure.  Squirrels, 
also,  marmots  and  mice  bury  nuts  under  ground,  and  oflen 
so  deep  that  neither  light  nor  warmth  can  reach  the  hid- 
den store.  But  then  comes  man,  and  cuts  down  the  pine- 
wood,  and  lo !  to  the  astonishment  of  all,  a  young  coppice 
of  oaks  shoots  up,  and  the  wonder  is,  where  all  the  acorns 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


120 


have  so  suddenly  come  from.  It  is  not  without-  its  ludi- 
crous side,  to  see  even  the  ingenuity  of  men  baffled  by 
these  unconscious  but  faithful  servants  of  nature.  We  arc 
told  that  the  Dutch,  with  a  kind  of  sublime  political  wis- 
dom, destroy  the  plants  that  produce  our  nutmeg,  for  the 
purpose  of  keeping  up  their  monopoly,  and  high  prices 
into  the  bargain,  by  the  limited  amount  of  the  annual 
produce,  which  is  entirely  in  their  hands.  With  this  view, 
they  used  to  cut  down  every  tree  of  the  kind  in  the 
Molucca  Islands,  where  it  was  originally  indigenous,  and 
to  punish,  with  the  severest  penalties,  the  mere  posses- 
sion of  a  nut.  But  it  so  l^appens  that  a  little  bird  of 
the  same  Moluccas,  also,  is  fond  of  these  nuts ;  and  as 
the  air  cannot  very  well  be  guarded  and  watched,  even 
by  Dutch  ingenuity,  he  insists  upon  eating  them,  and  car- 
ries the  seed  to  distant  islands  of  the  ocean,  causing  the 
unfortunate  Hollanders  infinite  trouble  and  annoyance. 

Seeds  that  have  not  learned  to  fly  with  their  own 
or  other  people's  wings  are  taught  to  swim.  Trees  and 
bushes  which  bear  nuts,  love  low  grounds  and  the  banks 
of  rivers.  Why?  Because  their  fruit  is  shaped  like  a 
small  boat,  and  the  rivulet  playing  with  its  tiny  ripples 
over  silvery  sands,  as  well  as  the  broad  wave  of  the 
Pacific,  carry  their  seed  alike,  safely  and  swiftly,  to  new 
homes.  Rivers  float  down  the  fruits  of  mountain  regions, 
into  deep  valleys  and  to  far  off*  coasts,  and  the  Gulf  Stream 
of  our  own  Atlantic  carries  annually  some  of  the  rich 
products  of  the  torrid  zone  of  America  to  the  distant 
shores  of  Iceland  and  Norway.  Seeds  of  plants  growing 
in  Jamaica  and  Cuba  have  been  gathered  in  the  quiet  coves 
6* 


130  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

of  the  Hebrides.  The  gigantic  cocoa-nut  itself,  weighing 
not  rarely  more  than  five  pounds,  but  air-tight  in  its  close 
shell,  and  buoyant  by  its  light  fibrous  coat,  is  thus  drifted 
from  island  to  island,  and  rides  safely  on  the  surges  of 
the  ocean  from  the  Seychelles  to  the  distant  coast  of 
Malabar.  There  it  lodges,  and  germinates  in  the  light 
moist  sand,  so  that  the  Indians  of  old  fancied  that  they 
grew  under  water,  and  called  them  sea-cocoas.  A  still 
more  striking  provision  of  nature  is  this,  that  there  are 
some  seeds  of  this  kind  so  exquisitely  adjusted  to  their 
future  destination,  as  to  sink  in  salt  water,  while  they  swim 
with  safety  in  sweet  water. 

Large  vegetable  masses  even  travel  on  the  great  waters 
of  the  ocean.  Compact  fields  of  marine  plants  are  occa- 
sionally met  with  in  the  southern  seas,  and  on  the  coast 
of  Florida,  large  enough  to  impede  the  progress  of  vessels, 
and  filled  with  millions  of  crustace£e.  They  are  not  un- 
frequently  so  firm  and  so  extensive  as  to  afford  a  building 
place  for  the  nests  of  aquatic  birds  and  even  for  quadru- 
peds, who  thus  float  at  the  mercy  of  wind  and  waves  to 
their  new  unknown  home.  Amid  the  Philippine  Islands, 
also,  after  a  typhoon,  floating  islands  are  fallen  in  with, 
consisting  of  matted  plants  and  wood,  with  tall,  old  trees, 
growing  on  them.  These  strange,  insular  rafts,  are  carried 
along  by  s^\ift  currents,  or  wafted  onward  by  the  slightest 
breath  of  air  which  fans  the  foliage  of  their  dense  woods, 
until,  after  a  passage  of  weeks  or  months,  they  land,  like 
a  new  ark,  on  some  distant  shore.  The  very  plants  of 
our  fields,  that  sustain  our  life,  are  there  only  because 
man  has  been  compelled  to  take  them  with  him  on  his 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


131 


travels  from  continent  to  continent.  Wheat  has  thus  left 
its  first  home  in  Asia  and  travelled  westward  around  the 
world,  whilst  maize,  and  potatoes,  have  gone  in  the  other 
direction,  from  our  land  to  the  farthest  east.  And,  unfor- 
tunately, man  had  to  take  the  bad  with  the  good,  and, 
for  his  sins  no  doubt,  weeds  seem  to  follow  him  more 
closely,  and  to  adhere  more  tenaciously  to  his  home,  than 
all  other  friends,  so  that  scholars  have  succeeded  in  de- 
termining the  race  of  early  settlers  in  many  a  country 
by  studying  the  weeds  tliat  were  found  in  the  place  of 
their  former  habitations. 

But  we  need  not  go  to  far-off  countries  to  see  plants 
wandering  about  in  the  world :  our  OAvn  gardens  afford 
us,  though  on  a  smaller  scale,  many  an  instance  of  the 
travelling  propensities  of  these  very  plants  that  are  so 
much  pitied  because  they  cannot  move  about  and  choose 
their  own  home.  Ever}'  casual  observer  even  knows  that 
many  bulbs,  like  those  of  crocus,  tulips,  or  narcissus,  rise 
-or  sink  by  forming  new  bulbs  above  or  below,  until  they 
have  reached  the  proper  depth  of  soil  which  best  suits 
their  constitution — or  perhaps  their  fancy.  Some  orchids 
have  a  regular  locomotion :  the  old  root  dies,  the  new 
one  forms  invariably  in  one  and  the  same  direction,  and 
thus  they  proceed  onwards  year  after  year,  though  at  a 
very  modest,  stage-coach  rate.  Strawberries,  on  the  con- 
trary, put  on  seven-league  boots,  and  often  escape  from 
the  rich  man's  garden  to  refresh  the  weary  traveller  by 
the  wayside.  Raspberries,  again,  mine  their  way  stealthily 
under  ground,  by  a  subterranean,  mole-like  process ;  blind, 
but  not  unguided,  for  they  are  sure  to  turn  up  in  the 


132 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


brightest,  sunniest  spot  they  could  have  chosen,  had  their 
eyes  been  wide  open,  and  their  proceedings  above  ground. 

As  if  in  return  for  the  manifold  services  which  plants 
require  and  receive  from  their  fellow  creatures,  they  show 
kindness  of  their  own  to  animal  life,  and  shelter  and  feed 
the  most  timid  as  well  as  the  noblest  of  beings,  with  the 
hospitality  of  their  generous  life.  In  early  childhood  al- 
ready wc  are  taught,  that  even  the  smallest  of  seeds,  the 
mustard  seed,  grows  up  to  be  a  tree,  "in  whose  branches 
the  fowls  of  the  heavens  have  their  habitation,"  that  "  both 
Judah  and  Israel  dwelt  safely,  every  man  under  his  vine 
and  under  his  fig-tree,  all  the  days  of  Solomon,"  and 
that  Deborah,  the  prophetess,  "dwelt  under  a  palm-tree." 
Modern  science  has  furnished  us  numerous  new  and  strik- 
mg  instances  of  the  great  variety  of  life,  which  is  thus 
intimately  connected  with  the  vegetable  kingdom.  It  is 
not  only  that  the  plaintive  nightingale  sings  in  the  mur- 
muring poplar,  whilst  the  gay  butterfly  loves  the  sweet- 
scented  rose,  that  the  sombre  yew  hides  the  owl's  nest, 
and  the  dark  northern  pine  harboj's  the  far-clad  squirrel. 
Animals,  invisible  to  the  naked  eye,  have  been  found  to 
float  in  the  sap  of  trees,  and  even  the  smallest  moss  has 
its  own  tiny  insect,  which  it  boards  and  lodges.  Aphides 
and  gall  insects  live,  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  on  the 
leaves  of  plants,  flics  and  butterflies  on  their  flowers, 
and  ants  and  worms  crowd  upon  them,  after  death,  in 
countless  multitudes.  Every  plant,  moreover,  is  inhabited 
by  some  insect,  to  which  it  affords  an  exclusive  hon::o. 
Many  caterpillars  are  thus  born  and  die  with  the  leaf  on 
which    thev  live,  whilst,  on   the   other    hand,  the  proud 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


133 


monarch-oak  alone  supports  seventy  different  kinds  of  in- 
sects— a  swarm,  which  sets  all  measurement  at  defiance, 
and,  moreover,  replaces  by  numbers  and  the  enornious 
voracity  which  they  exhibit,  what  they  want  in  bodily 
magnitude. 

Already  Pliny  was  surprised  to  see  small  ants  run  up 
the  tall  cypress,  and  devour  its  rich  fruit  with  surprising 
avidity ;  he  wondered  that  so  insignificant  an  insect  should 
be  allowed  to  destroy  the  seed  of  the  largest  tree  of  his 
country.  But  plants  have  to  support  guests  of  every  size 
and  shape.  The  butterfly  and  its  less  gaudy  relations, 
drink  with  their  long  trunks  sweet  honey  out  of  gorge- 
ously colored  flower-cups ;  four-winged  bees  carry  away 
the  precious  dust  of  anthers  in  large  spoons,  fastened  to 
their  thighs ;  gall  insects  pierce  with  sharp  daggers  the 
tender  leaf,  drink  its  refreshing  juice,  and  deposit  their 
eggs  in  the  delicate  texture ;  beetles  gnaw  and  saw  with  a 
hundred  curiously  shaped  instruments  through  the  hardest 
wood  of  noble  trees,  and  naked,  helpless-looking  worms 
make  the  very  trunk  their  cover  and  their  home,  and  with 
sharp  augers  often  destroy  whole  forests.  The  ingenious 
ant  of  South  America  has  its  winter  residence  in  the 
warm  ground,  and  its  cool  summer  house  on  tall  plants. 
Tor  there  grows  on  the  banks  of  the  Amazon  river  a 
gigantic  reed,  nearly  thirty  feet  high,  which  is  frequently 
crowned  with  a  large  ball  of  earth,  like  the  golden  globe 
on  the  utmost  end  of  a  lofty  church  steeple.  This  is  the 
comfortable  home  of  myriads  of  ants,  which  retire  to  these 
safe  dwellings,  high  and  dry,  at  the  time  of  rains  and 
during  the  period  of  inundation,  rising  and  descending  in 


134 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature 


the  hollow  of  the  reed,  and  living  on  what  they  find 
swimming  on  the  surface  of  the  water.  Another  curious 
lodger  of  a  South  American  plant  is  the  famous  cochineal 
bug,  well  known  from  the  precious  red  color  that  bears 
its  name,  and  which  it  draws  from  a  certain  cactus  until 
its  body  becomes  impregnated  with  brilliant  scarlet.  It 
is  probably  the  most  sedentary  of  all  insects,  making  but 
one  short  journey  in  early  life,  and  then  settling  down 
for  ever  upon  one  and  the  same  spot.  As  soon,  namely, 
as  the  young  insect  leaves  its  egg,  it  manifests  great  ac- 
tivity and  a  restless  desire  to  travel.  But  alas!  it  finds 
itself  upon  a  prickly,  thorny  stem,  hanging  high  in  the 
air,  and  in  contact  with  no  other.  But  nature  soon  comes 
to  its  aid,  and  sends  a  small  spider  to  spin  a  silken 
thread  from  branch  to  branch.  Upon  this  slender,  trem- 
bling bridge  the  young  cochineal  wanders  boldly  out  to 
a  new  world,  seeks  a  promising  spot,  deliberately  sinks 
its  fragile  trunk  into  the  juicy  leaf — and  never  draws  it 
back  again,  drinking,  drinking,  like  a  toper  as  he  is,  through 
his  whole  existence. 

Even  larger  inhabitants  are  often  found  on  quite  small 
plants.  Thus  England  produces  a  slight  but  well  sup- 
ported thistle,  which  is  frequently  found  to  bear  little 
elaborate  nests,  a  few  inches  above  the  ground.  These 
contain  not  insects,  but  mice,  though  of  the  smallest 
variety  known,  and  are  occasionally  large  enough  to  hold 
as  many  as  nine  young  ones,  carefully  stowed  away  and 
well  secured  against  all  enemies  and  dangers. 

Birds  seem,  of  course,  the  most  natural  lodgers  of 
plants;  they  find  there  abundance  of  nourishment,  all  the 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


135 


material  for  building  their  nests,  and  a  well-protected  home. 
The  eagle  gathers  the  knotted  branches  of  oaks  or  pines, 
to  bring  up  his  fierce  brood  upon  the  hard,  uncushioned 
couch;  the  thorn  tears  a  handful  of  wool  from  the  passing 
sheep,  for  its  tiny  inhabitants,  and  the  despised  mullein 
covers  its  broad  leaves  with  the  softest  of  downs,  to  line 
the  bed  of  the  delicate  children  of  the  humming  bird. 
There  is  probably  no  bush  and  no  tree,  that  has  not  lis 
own  particular  bird ;  every  where  do  the  fowl  of  the  air 
find  a  foliage,  thicker  or  thinner,  to  shelter  them  agair:st 
rain,  heat  and  cold;  a  hollow  trunk  affords  safe  and  warm 
lodgings ;  soft  moss  carpets  their  dwellings,  and  insects 
and  worms  swarm  around,  to  offer,  at  the  same  time,  food 
in  abundance.  The  birds  give,  in  return,  life  and  sound 
to  the  immovable  plant.  Song  birds  of  many  kinds  perch 
and  sing  their  beautiful  anthems  on  every  spray  ;  locusts 
thrill  their  monotonous  and  yet  pleasing  note  among  a 
world  of  leaves  through  long  summer  noons,  and  the  katy- 
did utters  its  shrill  cry  during  sultry  nights.  They  all 
love  their  home,  making  it  their  dwelling  by  night  and 
by  day,  and  many  are  the  instances  in  which  birds,  that 
had  long  lived  in  certain  trees,  have  died  from  true  sor- 
row, when  the  latter  were  felled. 

Monkeys,  also,  it  is  well  known,  are  frugivorous  animals, 
and  by  their  food  as  well  as  by  the  peculiar  structure 
of  their  body,  so  closely  bound  to  trees  that  they  but 
seldom  leave  them.  The  tree-frog  clings  to  the  rugged 
trunk,  mingling  its  faded  colors  with  those  of  the  bark, 
and  feasting  upon  the  insects  hid  in  each  crevice.  The 
unsightly  sloth  fastens  its  enormous  claws  to  the  branches, 


13G  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

and  passes  thus,  head  downward,  with  astoundmg  alacrity, 
from  tree  to  tree ;  whilst  even  the  black  tiger  of  South 
America,  finding  the  undergrowth  too  dense  and  impene- 
trable, lives  on  trees,  and  in  his  bloody  race,  leaps  from 
branch  to  branch,  until  he  has  hunted  down  his  exhausted 
prey. 

Nor  has  man  himself  neglected  to  avail  himself  of  trees, 
as  a  dwelling  or  a  home.  Already  Lucinius  Mutianus, 
an  ex-Consul  of  Lycia,  took  pleasure  in  feasting  twenty- 
one  guests  in  a  hollow  plane-tree ;  and  modern  travellers 
tell  us  of  a  gigantic  Boabab  in  Senegambia,  the  interior 
of  which  is  used  as  a  public  hall  for  national  meetings, 
whilst  its  portals  are  ornamented  with  rude,  quaint  sculp- 
tures, cut  out  of  the  still  living  wood.  The  sacred  fig- 
tree  of  India,  which,  as  Milton  says,  is  seen 

"Branching  so  broad  along,  that  in  the  ground 
The  bending  twigs  take  root,  and  daughters  gi-ow 
About  the  mother  tree,  a  pillar's  shade 
High  overarch'd,  with  echoing  walks  between," 

is  worshipped  as  sacred,  and  the  lazy,  helpless  priest,  the 
Bonze,  builds  himself  a  hut,  not  unlike  a  bird's  cage,  in 
its  branches,  where  he  spends  his  life,  dreaming  in  con- 
templative indolence,  under  its  cool,  pleasant  shade.  Nay, 
whole  nations  live  in  the  branches  of  trees.  There  is  a 
race  of  natives  in  South  America,  west  of  the  mouth  of 
the  Orinoco,  the  Guaranis,  who  have  never  yet  been  com- 
pletely subdued,  thanks  mainly  to  their  curious  habita- 
tions. The  great  Humboldt  tells  us,  that  they  twine  most 
skilfully  the  leaf-stalks  of  the  Mauritius  palm  into  cords, 
and  weave  them  with  great  care  into  mats.    These  they 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


137 


suspend  high  in  the  air  from  branch  to  branch,  and  cover 
them  with  clay  ;  here  they  dwell,  and  in  a  dark  night 
the  amazed  and  bewildered  traveller  may  see  the  fires 
of  their  dwellings  high  in  the  tops  of  lofty  forests. 

More  civilized  countries  even  have  not  left  us  without 
similar,  though  isolated  instances  of  men  who  have  found 
a  dwelling  in  the  trees  of  the  forest.  Evelyn  tells  us 
of  the  huge  trunk  of  an  oak  in  Oxfordshire,  which  served 
long  as  a  prison  for  felons ;  and  he  who  lived  in  the 
shades  of  old  Selborne  "so  lovely  and  sweet,"  mentions 
an  elm  on  Blechington  Green,  which  gave  for  months  re- 
ception and  shelter  to  a  poor  woman,  whom  the  inhospi- 
table people  would  not  receive  into  their  houses.  When 
she  reappeared  among  them,  he  says,  she  held  a  lusty  boy 
in  her  arms.  Men  are,  however,  more  frequently  buried 
than  born  in  trees.  The  natives  of  the  eastern  coast  of 
Africa  hollow  out  soft,  worm-eaten  Boababs,  and  bury  in 
them  those  who  are  suspected  of  holding  communion  with 
evil  spirits.  Their  bodies,  thus  suspended  in  the  dry  cham- 
bers of  the  trunk,  soon  become  perfect  mummies.  The 
Indians  of  Maine  had  a  more  touching  custom  of  the  kind. 
They  used  to  turn  up  a  young  maple-tree,  place  the  body 
of  a  dead  chief  underneath,  and  then  let  the  roots  spring 
back,  thus  erecting  a  sylvan  monument  to  his  memory. 

Where  there  is  life,  there  are  plants,  and  on  land  and 
on  water,  on  the  loftiest  mountain  top,  and  in  the  very 
bowels  of  the  earth,  every  where  does  man  find  a  plant 
to  minister  to  his  support  and  enjoyment,  every  where  he 
sees  plants  quietly  and  mysteriously  perform  their  humble 
duty  in  the  great  household  of  nature.     Plants  alone — 


138 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


it  would,  at  first  sight,  appear — have  no  home,  for  they 
seem  to  be  at  home  every  where.  Turn  up  the  soil,  where 
you  will,  to  any  depth,  and  such  a  rich  abundance  of 
vegetable  life  is  mixed  with  the  loam,  that  almost  instan- 
taneously plants  innui.nerable  spring  up  from  seeds,  which 
may  have  lain  slumbering  for  thousands  of  years  in  the 
warm  bosom  of  our  mother  earth.  Man  himself  cannot 
master  this  exuberance  of  vegetable  life.  He  may  change 
it  by  cultivation,  it  is  true,  but  that  also  only  for  a  time. 
And  what  is  a  generation,  or  two,  in  comparison  with  the 
eternal  earth?  Do  not,  even  in  our  day,  and  before  our 
eyes,  lofty  trees  raise  their  proud  heads,  where  our  fathers 
cut  ase  green  turf  with  their  sharp  plough?  In  vain  does 
man  take  the  Alpine  rose  from  the  banks  of  its  pure 
mountain  brook  and  plant  it  in  the  lowly  valley  ;  in  vain 
does  he  bring  costly  seeds  from  the  Indies  and  the  warm 
Climes  of  the  tropics,  even  to  the  ice-clad  coast  of  Nor- 
way. They  live  and  pine  and  die.  In  vain  does  he  some- 
times seek  to  reverse  nature  itself.  He  places  bubbling 
fountains  on  the  top  of  high  hills,  and  plants  lime-trees 
and  poplars  between  great  masses  of  rocks ;  vineyards 
must  adorn  his  valleys,  and  meadows  spread  their  soft 
velvet  over  mountain  sides.  But  "  naturam  furca  expellas, 
tamen  etsi  recurret."  A  few  years'  neglect,  and  how 
quickly  she  resumes  her  sway !  Artificial  lakes  become 
gloomy  marshes,  bowers  are  filled  with  countless  briers, 
and  stately  avenues  overgrown  with  reckless  profusion. 
The  plants  of  the  soil  declare  war  against  the  intruders 
from  abroad,  and  claim  once  UiCre  their  birthright  to  the 
land  of  their  fathers.    The  fine  well  trimmed  turf  is  smo- 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


139 


thered  under  a  thousand  coarser  plants ;  rank  grass  and 
fat  clover  overspread  the  exotics ;  briers  clinnb  up  with 
the  aid  of  hooks  and  ladders,  as  if  they  were  storming 
a  fortress;  nettles  fill  the  urns  of  statues  with  their  thick 
tufts,  and  unsightly  mosses  creep  upon  the  very  faces  of 
marble  beauties.  Wild  cherry-trees  and  maples  seize  on 
every  cornice  and  cleft  of  the  stately  mansion  ;  hardy  in- 
vincible roots  penetrate  into  the  slightest  opening,  un^il 
at  last  victory  is  declared,  and  the  trees  of  the  forest  wave 
their  rich  foliage  over  the  high  turrets,  and  raise  trium- 
phantly on  spire  and  pinnacle,  the  gorgeous  banner  of 
Nature. 

Thus  we  gain  the  impression,  so  encouraging  and  pleas- 
ing to  reflecting  man,  that  all  nature  is  everywhere  fidl 
of  life — a  life,  moreover,  varied  by  a  thousand  shades  and 
as  yet  but  little  known.  For  there  is  high  life  and  low 
life  among  plants  as  among  men.  The  stately  palm  raises 
its  high,  unbroken  pillar,  crowned  with  sculptured  verdure, 
only  in  the  hot  vapors  of  Brazilian  forests  and  tropical 
climes,  and  like  a  true  "king  of  the  grasses,"  as  the  ancient 
Indians  called  the  noble  tree,  it  must  fare  sumptuously 
and  upon  the  richest  of  earth's  gifts,  before  it  justifies  the 
prophet's  saying,  that  "  the  righteous  shall  flourish  like  the 
palm-tree."  How  humble,  by  its  side,  the  lowly  moss, 
barely  visible  to  the  naked  eye,  clad  in  most  modest  garb, 
and  yet  faithfully  covering,  with  its  w^arm  mantle,  the 
dreary,  weather-beaten  boulders  of  northern  granite,  or  car- 
peting our  damp  grottoes,  and  making  them  resplendent 
with  its  phosphorescent  verdure  !  The  brilliant  flower  of 
Queen  Victoria's   namesake,  the   most   superb  cradle  in 


140  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

which  child  was  ever  rocked,  must  needs  float  its  rosy 
leaves  on  the  warm  bosom  of  the  silent  lakes  of  Guiana, 
and  the  aristolochia  of  South  America,  whose  flowers  are 
large  enough  to  serve  Indian  boys  as  hats  or  helmets, 
deigns  not  to  live,  unless  it  can  bathe  its  delicate  roots 
in  the  shady  waters  of  the  Magdalen  river.  Theirs  is  the 
warm  golden  light  of  the  sun,  theirs  the  richest  of  soils, 
the  purest  of  waters,  an  everlasting  summer,  an  unbroken 
enjoyment.  And  yet,  are  they  really  more  beauteous  and 
graceful  than  the  humble  house-leek,  which  flourishes  under 
circumstances  that  would  be  fatal  to  almost  all  other 
plants  1  In  the  very  driest  places,  where  not  a  blade  of 
grass,  not  a  spire  of  moss  can  grow,  on  naked  rocks,  old 
crumbling  walls,  or  sandy,  parched  plains,  these  step- 
children of  nature  are  seen  to  thrive  and  to  prosper. 
Alternately  exposed  to  the  heaviest  dews  at  night,  and  the 
fiercest  rays  of  the  noonday  sun,  they  withstand  all,  and 
live  upon  so  small  a  particle  of  soil,  that  it  seems  to 
them  more  a  means  of  keeping  them  stationary,  than  a 
source  of  nutriment.  Eock-roses  bear  that  name,  because 
they  will  only  flourish  in  dry,  rocky  places,  where  other 
plants  would  never  find  a  due  supply  of  moisture.  These 
rocks  they  are  industriously  engaged  in  ornamenting  with 
a  profusion  of  brilliantly  colored  flowers,  for  nature  loves 
to  combine  every  where  the  beautiful  with  the  useful. 
Still,  their  beauty  is  but  short-lived ;  their  blossoms  usually 
expand  at  night,  and  after  a  few  hours'  exposure  to  the 
sun,  they  perish.  But  their  long  evergreen  branches  trail, 
year  after  year,  with  great  beauty,  over  the  rough  banks 
and  rocky  clifls  that  give  them  a  shelter  and  a  home. 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


141 


The  very  sand  of  the  sea,  dry  and  drifting  at  the  mercy 
of  the  waves,  fickle  and  false  to  a  proverb,  is  not  too 
poor  for  a  most  useful  plant,  the  so-calle(^  sand-recd.  It 
has  no  beauty  of  form  to  please  the  eye,  no  delicacy  of 
structure  to  engage  our  attention,  the  cattle  themselves 
will  not  touch  it.  But  when  planted  by  the  hand  of  man, 
to  give  firmness  to  dykes  and  embankments,  it  pierces 
them  with  an  entangled  web  of  living  structure,  which 
offers  a  resistance  stronger  than  that  of  the  gigantic  walls 
of  fabled  Cyclops,  and  is  but  rarely  overcome  by  the 
violence  of  the  storm  and  the  fury  of  the  waves.  The 
loose  sand  of  South  American  deserts  still  harbors  little 
cacti,  so  small,  and  so  slightly  rooted  in  their  unstable 
home,  that  they  get  between  the  toes  of  the  Indian — and 
even  the  fearful  deserts  of  Africa,  those  huge  seas  of  sand 
without  a  shadow,  are  at  least  surrounded  by  forest  shores, 
clothed  in  perpetual  verdure ;  even  in  their  midst  a  few 
solitary  palm-trees,  sighing  in  loneliness  for  the  sweet  rivu- 
lets of  the  oasis,  are  scattered  over  the  awful  solitude, 
and  wherever  a  tiny  thread  of  water  passes  half  con- 
cealed through  the  endless  waves  of  sand,  a  line  of  lux- 
uriant green,  marks  it  to  the  exhausted  traveller,  and 
reminds  him  of  the  green  pasture  and  still  waters  of 
Holy  Writ. 

Nor  are  plants  dwellers  upon  land  only :  the  waters  also 
teem  with  vegetable  life,  and  the  bed  of  the  mighty  ocean 
is  planted  with  immense  submarine  forests  and  a  thousand 
varied  herbs,  from  the  gigantic  fucus,  which  grows  to  the 
length  of  many  hundred  feet,  and  far  exceeds  the  height 
of  the  tallest  tree  known,  to  the  little  yellow  blossom 


142  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

of  the  duck-weed  on  our  ponds.  Every  river  has  its  own 
reed ;  some,  covered  with  snow  for  a  part  of  the  year, 
hardly  rise  above  the  sluggish,  silent  waters  of  the  Irtis 
in  cold  Siberia ;  others  form  ever-murmuring  forests  of 
graceful  bamboo  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges.  For  the 
earth  opposes  every  where  to  the  encroaching  tides  of  the 
ocean,  another  sea  of  restless  vegetation,  yielding  con- 
stantly, and  yet  never  giving  way,  with  its  green  waves, 
so  delicate,  fragile,  and  airy,  and  yet  as  strong  in  their 
very  weakness  as  the  deep-blue  waves  of  the  ocean.  Fur- 
ther out  at  sea,  enormous  sponges  fill  vast  spaces  of  the 
watery  realm,  and,  when  mature,  break  loose  from  their 
safe  anchorage,  to  float  in  countless  myriads  through  the 
surrounding  sea.  For  here,  also,  nature  pours  out,  with 
a  lavish  hand,  living  food,  storing  even  the  waves  with 
nutriment  for  their  gigantic  denizens,  and  literally  casting 
bread  upon  the  waters  for  the  animate  world  of  the  ocean. 
In  other  zones,  immense  and  permanent  banks  of  verdure 
are  met  with,  by  far  exceeding  the  largest  prairies  on  land, 
true  oceanic  meadows.  For  twenty-three  long  days  did 
Columbus  sail  through  one  of  these  marvels  of  western 
waters,  covering  an  area  like  that  of  all  France ;  and  yet 
there  it  is,  even  now,  as  large  and  as  luxuriant  as  it  was 
more  than  three  centuries  ago. 

Truly,  man  is  not  alone  a  cosmopolite.  Plants  precede 
him  as  they  follow  his  footsteps,  wherever  restless  ambi- 
tion may  lead  him.  Their  domain  is  the  whole  earth. 
They  are  not  driven  away  by  the  cold  of  the  Arctic;  they 
endure  the  fiery  heat  of  the  volcano. 

Trees  and  shrubs  gather  around  the  desolate  North  Cape 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


143 


in  spite  of  eternal  winter,  and  relentless  storms.  Ice-clad 
Spitzbergen  even  boasts  still  of  a  willow,  the  giant  of  these 
Arctic  forests,  the  woody  stems  of  which,  it  is  true,  creep 
so  close  to  the  ground,  and  conceal  themselves  so  anxiously 
in  the  turf  bogs,  that  the  small  leaves,  never  rising  more 
than  an  inch  or  two,  are  hardly  discoverable  amid  the 
thick  moss.  The  plains  bordering  on  the  Icy  Sea  are  fall 
of  cryptogamous  plants,  and  show  even,  here  and  there, 
patches  of  green  turf,  a  most  gladsome  sight  to  the  weary 
traveller.  The  swampy  districts,  also,  which  there  extend 
further  than  eye  can  reach,  are  covered  with  a  closely  woven 
carpet  of  mosses,  minute  in  size,  and  yet  so  abundant, 
that  they  support  immense  herds  of  reindeer  for  a  whole, 
dreary  season.  Even  the  perpetual  snow  of  the  polar 
regions  is  often  adorned  with  beautiful  forests  of  diminu- 
tive plants,  and  extensive  fields  of  bright  scarlet  are  seen, 
consisting  of  myriads  of  minute  fungi  and  microscopic 
mushrooms,  which  form  the  so-called  "gory  dew,"  beheld 
by  early  navigators  with  a  wonder  nearly  akin  to  awe. 
Captain  Eichardson  found  the  ground  near  the  Arctic  circle, 
though  it  remains  frozen  throughout  the  whole  year  to 
a  depth  of  twenty  inches,  covered  with  bright  flowering 
plants;  and  the  great  Humboldt  saw  at  a  height  of  more 
than  eighteen  thousand  feet,  on  the  uncovered  rocks  of  the 
Chimborazo,  traces  of  vegetation  piercing  through  the  eter- 
nal snow  of  those  inhospitable  regions.  So  far  from  ice 
and  snow  being  hostile  to  plants,  it  has  been  observed  that 
some  of  the  most  beautiful  flowers  on  earth  grow  in  the 
very  highest  and  bleakest  parts  of  the  Alps.  There  the 
snow  has  hardly  melted,  and  lies  still  close  at  hand,  when 


144  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

these  Alpine  roses  unfold  their  brilliant  flowers,  with  a 
haste,  as  if  they  knew  how  costly  were  the  moments  of 
their  short  summer-time.  They  seem  to  devote  their  whole 
strength  to  the  development  of  their  flowers,  and  as  their 
stems  are  but  short  and  partially  buried  in  the  ground, 
their  bright  blossoms  often  appear  to  spring  immediately 
from  the  unsightly  drift  and  gravel,  in  which  they  live. 
Thus  growing  on  the  very  edge  of  bare  steep  clifls,  of 
vast  dazzling  snow  fields,  and  dark-blue  glaciers,  are  seen 
these  graceful  little  plants,  decked  with  a  profusion  of 
flowers  of  the  purest  and  brightest  colors.  The  tiny  forget- 
me-not  of  the  Alps  blossoms  by  the  side  of  huge  boulders 
of  rock,  and  sweet  roses  unfold  their  rich  crowns  at  the 
foot  of  massive  blocks  of  ice,  exhibiting  a  beautiful  pic- 
ture of  loveliness  mated  with  grandeur. 

The  vegetable  kingdom  extends  its  colonies  even  into 
the  bowels  of  the  earth — the  so-called  subterranean  flora 
is  large  and  beautiful.  Wherever  rain  or  surface  water 
can  percolate,  either  through  natural  cavities  or  openings 
made  by  the  hand  of  man,  there  plants  will  appear,  and 
busily  hide  the  nakedness  of  the  rock.  Far  below  the 
soil  on  which  we  tread,  plants  thrive  and  adorn  our  globe. 
When  the  miner  first  opens  his  shaft,  or  the  curious 
traveller  discovers  a  new  cave — everywhere  they  find  the 
rough  rock  and  the  snow-white  stalactite  covered  with  a 
delicate,  graceful  network  of  an  usnea,  or,  as  in  the  coal 
mines  near  Dresden,  a  luminous  fungus  shines  brightly, 
and  turns  these  regions  of  darlaiess  into  the  semblance 
of  a  begemmed  and  illuminated  enchanter's  palace.  The 
narrow,  deep  crevices  of  the  glaciers,  have  a  vegetation 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


145 


of  their  own,  and  even  in  the  thick-ribbed  ice  of  the 
Antarctic  seas,  marine  plants  have  been  found  floating. 

Heat  deters  plants  as  little  as  cold  ;  the  fiery  furnace 
of  volcanoes  is  tapestried  with  confervas,  and  hot  springs, 
whose  breath  is  certain  destruction  to  animal  life,  water 
the  roots  of  plants,  which  bear  beautiful  blossoms.  There 
are  springs  in  Louisiana  whose  temperature  is  145"^  F., 
and  yet  not  only  mosses,  but  shrubs  and  trees  are  seen 
to  bathe  their  roots  in  their  boiling  waters.  In  the  Fu- 
marole,  on  the  fairy  island  of  Ischia,  near  Naples,  a  sedge 
and  a  fern  grow  in  the  midst  of  ascending  vapors,  and 
in  a  soil  so  hot  that  it  instantly  burns  the  hand  wdiich 
attempts  to  touch  their  roots  !  Nay,  in  the  very  geysers 
of  Iceland,  which  boil  an  egg  in  a  few  minutes,  a  small 
plant  grows,  blossoms,  and  reproduces  itself  annually. 

If  land  and  water  abound  thus  with  vegetable  life,  the 
realms  of  the  air  are  not  less  well  peopled,  at  least  with 
germs  and  seeds  of  plants ;  they  float  upon  every  breeze, 
are  wafted  up  and  down  the  heavens,  and  round  and  about 
our  great  mother  earth.  Nothing  is  more  startling,  more 
wonderful,  than  the  almost  omnipresence  of  fungus  germs 
in  the  atmosphere.  A  morsel  of  ripe  fruit  left  exposed  to 
the  air,  affords  at  once  ample  evidence  of  this  teeming, 
living  world  around  us.  In  a  very  short  time,  a  delicate, 
velvet-like  covering  envelopes  the  decomposing  mass,  and 
presently  acquires  the  utmost  luxuriance  of  growth.  And 
a  wonderful  race  are  these  fungi,  the  earth's  vegetable 
scavengers  ;  called  upon  by  the  mysterious  distribution  of 
duties  in  nature,  to  destroy  all  decaying  matter,  and  to 
absorb  noisome  exhalations,  they  grow  with  a  rapidity  that 
7 


146  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

outstrips  decay  itself.  A  very  common  kind  of  puff-ball 
swells,  in  one  night,  from  a  minute  speck  to  the  size  of 
a  gourd,  and  there  is  a  fungus  found  on  the  continent  of 
Europe,  which  has  been  known  to  increase  from  a  point 
invisible  to  the  naked  eye,  to  a  weight  of  more  than  a 
hundred  pounds !  Or  take  the  simple  mould  of  every 
day's  life.  Arm  your  eye,  and  you  will  behold  myriads 
of  delicate  forms,  standing  up  in  jaunty  attitudes,  and 
rearing  their  tender  filaments  over  the  decaying  mass,  in 
which  they  are  living  in  luxurious  plenty.  They  lengthen, 
they  swell,  they  burst,  and  again  scatter  their  light  and 
invisible  germs,  like  a  cloud  of  smoke,  into  the  air.  There 
they  float  around  us,  like  motes  in  the  sunbeam ;  there 
we  breathe  them,  for  they  have  been  found  in  the  air- 
cells  of  birds,  and  even  upon  the  membranes  of  the  lungs 
of  living  men.  Our  common  house-fly  may  be  seen  in 
fall,  glued  by  cold  and  inertion  to  the  window-pane,  and 
at  once  covered  with  its  own  appropriate  mould ;  in  the 
West  Indies,  wasps  have  been  observed  flying  about  with 
plants  of  their  own  length  hanging  down  from  behind  their 
heads.  It  is  a  fungus,  the  germs  of  which  were  introduced 
through  the  breathing  pores  into  the  body  of  the  poor 
victim,  where  they  take  root,  and  feeding  upon  the  living 
substance,  develope  their  luxuriant  vegetation. 

If  we  see  thus  vegetable  life  on  land  and  on  sea,  amid 
snow  and  ice,  as  well  as  on  the  burning  lava,  we  might 
well  question,  whether  in  this  astounding  variety  of  form 
and  home,  there  can  be  any  law  or  permanent  rule.  And 
yet  we  find  here,  also,  the  handwriting  of  the  Almighty,  in 
clear  and  indelible  characters  on  every  page  of  the  great 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


147 


book  of  Nature.  Almo.st  every  kind  of  soil  has  its  own 
peculiar  plants ;  some  prosper  only  on  limestone,  others 
on  granite,  and  a  few  are,  as  Evelyn  quaintly  says,  "  faith- 
ful lovers  of  watery  and  boggie  places."  But  the  dis- 
tribution of  plants  shows  itself  mainly,  when  viewed  in 
larger  masses  and  groups.  As  winter  is  cold  and  silent, 
but  summer  all  radiant  with  forms  of  life  and  beauty, 
so  differ  Pole  and  Equator.  Near  the  former  vegetable 
life  is  nearly  impossible ;  around  the  other  we  behold  the 
grandest  display  of  nature's  most  gorgeous  gifts.  The 
glorious  tapestry  of  the  earth,  we  are  told  by  a  master  of 
the  science,  is  not  w^oven  alike  every  where,  nor  is  the 
rich  and  variegated  carpet,  with  which  plants  cover  the 
nakedness  of  the  rock,  pieced  together,  without  plan  or 
rule,  of  separate  patches.  It  is,  rather,  like  an  embroider- 
ing of  skilful  hands,  worked  from  a  grand  and  beautiful 
design. 

For  heat  and  moisture  are  the  two  great  requisites  of 
plants :  without  them  no  vegetation  is  possible — heat,  espe- 
cially, is  of  all  their  necessaries  of  life  the  most  important : 
it  is  the  iron  sceptre  which  rules  the  vegetable  kingdom, 
whether  the  plant  hang  in  the  air,  be  half  buried  in  the 
ground,  or  for  its  lifetime  covered  with  w^ater.  The  same 
degree  of  heat  produces  every  where  the  same  union  of 
kindred  plants ;  hence  the  arrangement  of  all  vegetables 
according  to  zones  on  our  globe.  The  Arctic,  nearest  to 
the  poles,  where  lichens  still  support  the  reindeer,  and 
cheerful  mosses  cover  the  bare  rock,  is  destitute  of  trees — 
but  it  has  dwarfish  perennial  plants,  with  large  flowers, 
often  of  beautiful  colors;  it  has  its  gentle  smiling  meadows 


148  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

and  green  pastures,  which  we  miss  so  sadly  in  the  sunny 
South.  More  varied,  and  of  higher  order,  is  the  flora  of 
the  temperate  zone,  though  not  approaching  in  luxurious 
abundance  and  gorgeous  brilliancy  the  splendor  of  the 
torrid  zone.  But  what  can  compensate  for  the  periodical, 
anxiously  awaited,  reawakening  of  nature,  at  the  first  breath 
of  the  mild  air  of  spring"?  What  is  more  beautiful  than 
the  fresh  evergreen  foliage  of  firs  and  cypresses,  so  rare 
in  the  tropics,  which  cheer  up  the  desolate  winter  land- 
scape, and  loudly  tell  the  nations  of  the  north,  that, 
though  snow  and  ice  cover  the  earth,  the  inward  life  of 
plants  is  never  extinguished,  and  that  spring  will  come 
after  winter  as  surely  as  eternity  comes  after  death  1  The 
great  leading  features  of  the  temperate  zone  are  its  vast 
plains  and  steppes,  which  the  eye  of  man  cannot  compass, 
and  where  he  feels  himself,  as  on  the  high  sea,  face  to 
face  with  his  Maker.  These  large  prairies,  or  savannahs, 
are  covered  with  luxuriant,  waving  grass,  expressive  of  all 
that  is  cheerful  in  their  airy  grace  and  tremulous  lightness. 
In  other  regions,  strange,  fantastic-looking  soda  plants,  sue 
culent  and  evergreen,  strike  the  eye  and  dazzle  it  with 
their  brilliant,  snow-white  crystals — or,  as  on  Russian 
steppes,  plants  of  all  kinds  are  so  densely  crowded  on 
the  unmeasured  plain,  that  the  wheels  of  the  traveller's 
carriage  can  but  with  difliculty  crush  them,  and  he  him- 
self is  half  buried  in  the  close,  high  forest  of  grasses,  too 
tall  to  allow  him  to  look  around. 

In  the  torrid  zone  all  vegetable  life  attains  the  highest 
development,  from  the  exclusive  and  constant  union  of  a 
high  temperature  with  abundant  moisture.    Here  we  find 


A  CtiAT  ABOUT  Plants. 


14D 


the  greatest  size  combined  with  the  greatest  variety,  the 
most  graceful  proportions  by  the  side  of  the  most  gro- 
tesque forms,  decked  with  every  possible  combination  of 
brilliant  coloring.  Here  also — and  here  alone — are  found 
truly  primeval  forests,  impenetrable  to  man  and  beast, 
from  the  luxuriance  of  thickly  interwoven  creepers  above 
and  the  density  of  a  ligneous  undergrowth,  through  which 
not  a  ray  of  light  can  penetrate. 

As  the  distribution  of  plants  in  zones  depends  almost 
exclusively  on  the  amount  of  heat  which  they  require  for 
their  development,  we  fmd  that  the  succession  of  plants 
from  the  foot  of  mountains  upwards  to  their  summit,  is 
nearly  the  same  as  that  from  the  middle  latitudes  to  the 
poles.  For  heat  decreases  in  the  same  proportion  by 
height  above  the  level  of  the  sea  as  by  latitude ;  and 
the  horizontal  zones  on  a  mountain's  side  present  the  same 
variety  of  plants,  as  the  great  zones  mentioned,  only  in 
a  much  smaller  space,  as  we  feel  the  temperature  of  the 
atmosphere  diminish  more  rapidly  in  ascending  a  lofty 
mountain,  than  in  travelling  from  the  tropics  to  the  poles. 
Hence  the  same  peculiar  plants  are  found  in  the  arctic 
zone,  and  on  the  highest  mountains  which  reach  the  line 
of  perpetual  snow;  the  same  humble  but  beautiful  flowers 
blossom  in  Spitzbergen,  or  on  the  icy  shores  of  Victoria 
Land,  and  on  the  desolate  clifls  of  the  Andes,  the  Alps 
and  the  snow-covered  heights  of  the  Himalaya.  Even  un- 
der the  tropics,  the  evergreens  of  the  north  appear  again: 
the  most  elevated  regions  of  Peru,  and  the  lofty  plains 
of  Asiatic  mountains  are  covered  with  superb  forests  of 
that  noble  tree  of  which  the  poet  says : 


150 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


"Where  summer  smiles  with  verdure  crown'd, 
Where  winter  flings  his  storms,  the  pine  is  found; 
"With  heaven  aspiring  head  it  grows 
'Mid  burning  sun— and  everlasting  snows." 

On  the  highlands  of  Mexico,  and  the  mountains  of  Java, 
the  traveller  from  the  cold  north  meets  with  surprise  the 
chestnut  and  the  noble  oak  of  his  own  distant  home.  It 
is  one  of  the  most  interesting  enjoyments  offered  to  the 
layman  as  well  as  to  the  botanist,  thus  to  pass  from  zone 
to  zone  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours  or  days  at  most. 
Rising,  for  instance,  from  the  blue  waters  of  the  Medi- 
terranean, his  eye  dwells  at  first  with  wondering  delight 
on  perfumed  orange  gardens  and  dusky  olive-trees,  "  fair 
and  of  goodly  fruit ;"  he  passes  through  thickets  of  fragrant 
myrtle,  laurel,  and  evergreen  oaks,  above  which  tower  the 
stone-pines  of  the  south,  and  here  and  there  an  isolated 
date-palm,  lifting  up  its  gently-waving  crown.  A  few  steps 
further,  and  the  aspect  changes ;  he  has  left  the  evergreens 
of  the  warmer  climate  behind  him,  and  stepping  out  of 
the  glowing,  fiery  sunshine,  he  delights  in  the  cool,  re- 
freshing gloom  of  the  wide  branches  of  lofty  chestnuts  and 
proud  oaks,  the  very  kings  of  the  forest.  Eevived  by 
their  luxuriant  foliage,  "at  dewy  eve  distilling  odors,"  he 
gazes  upwards,  where  their  branches  interlace  and  form 
grand  cathedral  aisles,  and  bows  down  in  awe  and  rever- 
ence in  this  fit  temple  of  the  Most  High.  As  he  ascends 
he  meets  yet  with  the  maple,  spreading  out  its  broad 
dome  of  dark  green  leaves  in  masses  so  thick,  that  be- 
neath it  he  fears  not  the  passing  shower,  and  the  beech, 
which  shows  its  dappled  bark  and  bright  green  foliage. 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


151 


The  silvery  trunk  of  some  white  birch,  with  "  boughs  so 
pendulous  and  fair" — begins  already  to  gleam  among  the 
underwood,  when  he  leaves  behind  him  the  aspen  with  its 
ever-quivering  leaves,  which  almost  shed  a  sense  of  breezy 
coolness  through  the  sultry  day. 

His  next  step  leads  him  into  the  dark  woods  of  truly 
northern  trees :  pines,  firs,  and  larches.  Their  dense  shade 
fills  his  soul  with  sombre  thoughts ;  the  gentle  murmuring 
of  their  boughs  sounds  to  his  ear  like  low  complaint,  and 
even  the  sweet  aroma  that  perfumes  the  air,  brings  with 
it — ^he  knows  not  why — feelings  of  vague  pain  and  sorrow. 
He  gazes  up  with  amazement  at  the  tallest  of  the  tall, 
worthy  to  be 

"  Hewn  ou  Norwegian  hills,  to  be  the  mast  of  some  tall  admiral," 

and  sees  in  its  heaven-aspiring  branches  and  ever-joyous 
verdure,  tlie  true  symbol  of  his  own  glorious  immortality. 
Now,  as  he  mounts  still  higher,  trees  grow  fewer  and 
fewer ;  low  bushes  stand  scattered  about,  forlorn  outposts 
of  their  happier  brethren  below ;  they  also  soon  venture 
no  higher,  and  low  but  fragrant  herbs  alone  remain  to 
greet  his  eye  and  cheer  him  on  his  way  upward.  At 
last  he  reaches  the  eternal  snow,  that  knows  no  season 
and  no  change,  and  stands  in  unsullied  purity,  dazzling 
w^hite,  high  in  the  clear  blue  ether.  All  traces  of  life  are 
left  behind — he  stands  there  alone  in  the  awful,  silent  soli- 
tude, alone  in  the  presence  of  his  Maker.  Thus  he  has 
seen  in  rapid  succession,  and  in  a  few  short  hours,  what 
it  would  have  cost  him  months  to  behold,  had  he  travel- 


152  Leaves  fkom  the  Book  of  Nature. 


led  from  the  same  Mediterranean  northward  to  the  frozen 
ocean. 

Still  more  striking  is  the  sudden  change  in  high  northern 
regions,  as  in  crossing  the  lofty,  snow-capped  mountains 
which  divide  Sweden  and  Norway.  On  the  south  you 
leave  summer  behind;  as  you  climb  up  the  steep  ascent, 
misty  autumn  and  cold  winter  seize  you  by  turns.  At 
last  you  stand  on  the  very  line  tiiat  forms  the  water-shed 
between  the  two  kingdoms,  and  parls  the  loving  sisters. 
Huge  boulders  of  dark  granite  lie  .cattered  about  in  wild 
disorder,  and  gigantic  blocks  of  ice  rise  in  stern  majesty 
before  you.  Beyond  is  Norway.  As  you  turn  round  one 
of  these  awe-inspiring  masses,  behold !  a  sight  meets  your 
eyes  that  freezes  the  very  blood  in  your  veins.  A  vast 
table  land,  bare  and  silent,  spreads  its  horrors  before  you : 
it  is  strewn  with  the  bones  of  hundreds  of  men,  who  lay 
there  stiff  and  cold — not  a  feature  marred — death  had  put 
on  so  slumber  like  a  form" — ^but  unburied,  uncoffined  and 
unknown.  They  are  the  sad  relics  of  a  whole  regiment 
of  brave,  blooming  sons  of  Sweden,  who  had  marched  into 
Norway.  It  was  a  fierce,  bleak  day  of  winter,  and  as  com- 
pany after  company  defiled  from  the  well-protected  south 
around  the  very  rock,  by  which  you  stand,  the  cold  blast 
from  the  pole  froze  their  breath  within  them,  and  laid 
them,  one  by  one,  lifeless  on  the  cold  ground. 

And  yet,  within  a  few  hours'  ride  from  this  most  melan- 
choly scene,  there  lie  spring  and  summer  at  your  feet. 
You  descend,  from  the  eternal  snow,  through  the  treeless 
zones  into  the  faint,  fairy  sheen  of  white  birch  woods,  and 
the  dark  shade  of  pine-forests,  brightened  up  by  the  showy 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


153 


blossoms  of  the  foxglove — when  all  of  a  sudden  the  sweet 
odor  of  fresh-mown  hay  is  wafted  upward  to  greet  you. 
A  short  hour  more,  and  the  almost  magical  change  brings 
you  into  the  midst  of  waving  fields  of  ripened  corn,  and 
meadows  adorned  by  cherry-trees,  which  bend  under  the 
weight  of  their  luscious  fruit,  and  luxuriantly-blooming 
roses. 

7* 


154 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


|ouuger  fmo  of  a  f laiit. 


"Herbs  too  she  knew,  and  well  of  each  could  speak, 
That  in  her  garden  sipped  the  silv'ry  dew." 

Shenstone's  "  School-Mistress.''^ 

'E  all  know — thanks  to  the  word  of  inspiration  in  our 


hands — how  plants  were  first  made.  On  the  third 
day,  when  God  made  heaven  and  earth,  He  said :  Let  the 
earth  bring  forth  grass,  the  herb  yielding  seed  and  the 
fruit-tree  after  his  kind !  and  the  earth  did  bring  forth 
grass  and  herbs,  the  tree  yielding  fruit,  and  God  saw  that 
it  was  good. 

Thus  plants  and  flowers  were  the  earth's  first-born  pro- 
geny; they  sprang  out  of  her  bosom  and  crowned  her 
with  verdure  and  beauty.  The  plains  covered  themselves 
with  waving  grasses,  and  the  mountains  with  majestic  for- 
ests ;  the  silvery  willow  and  the  lofty  poplar  bent  over  the 
banks  of  rivers,  and  repeated  in  their  trembling,  murmur- 
ing leaves,  the  gentle  ripple  and  the  low  purling  of  the 
stream.    The  ocean,  also,  had  its  woods  and  its  prairies 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant. 


155 


in  the  depth  of  its  abysses;  purple  algae  were  suspended 
ill  festoons  from  the  sides  of  its  rocks,  and  gigantic  facus 
rose  from  the  bottom  of  the  sea  and  danced  upon  the  dark 
green  waves.  Cedars  and  pines,  with  their  sombre  pyra- 
mids, formed  dark  borders  around  the  white  fields  of 
eternal  snow  and  dazzling  glaciers.  Humble  mosses  and 
lowly  lichens  covered  the  gray  granite  of  the  north,  and 
offered,  in  the  midst  of  unbroken  winter,  warmth  and  food 
to  the  reindeer  of  the  Laplander,  whilst  the  palm  tree  of 
the  south,  in  its  lofty  majesty,  defied  the  burning  sun  of 
the  tropics,  and  gave  shade  and  luscious  fruit  in  abun- 
dance. 

So  much  Revelation  itself  has  told  us.  The  rest  is  left 
to  that  innate  thirst  of  knowledge,  the  gratification  of 
which  is  the  highest  of  all  earthly  enjoyments.  Still,  we 
are  not  quite  left  to  ourselves,  for  aid  is  promised  us, 
even  now,  from  on  high.  "  Go  into  a  field  of  flowers," 
said  the  Lord  to  Ezra,  "  where  no  house  is  built,  and  there 
1  will  come  and  talk  with  thee.""  And  who  has  not  felt 
the  truth  of  good  old  Cowley's  quaiijt  verse: 

"If  we  could  open  and  intend  our  eye, 
We  all,  like  Moses,  would  espy 
E'en  in  a  bush  the  radiant  Deity." 

Thus,  even  now,  travellers  tell  us  occasionally,  a  won- 
drous tale  of  barren  islands  being  covered  with  luxuriant 
forests,  and  of  naked  rocks  being  clothed  w^ith  rich  ver- 
dure. We  have  learned  how  nature  proceeds,  even  in  our 
day,  to  let  the  grass  grow,  and  the  herb  and  the  tree 
yielding  fruit,  on  spots  where  before  all  was  sterility,  or 
the  elements  alone  reigned  supremely. 


156  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

For  every  now  and  then  we  hear  of  some  new  land, 
fresh  from  the  hands  of  the  Creator,  and  destined  for  ages 
so  distant  that  human  knowledge  cannot  foresee  them. 
Lava  streams  that  have  flown  from  restless  craters,  begin 
at  last  to  cool,  and  life  takes  possession  of  them.  Thus 
in  the  still  hot  lava  of  Mount  Etna  the  Indian  fig  is 
planted  largely  by  the  Sicilians,  to  render  those  desolate 
regions  capable  of  cultivation.  It  strikes  its  strong,  well- 
armed  roots  into  the  fissures  of  the  black,  fiery  mass,  and 
soon  extends  them  into  every  crevice  of  the  rock.  Slowly, 
but  with  ever  increasing  force,  the  tender  fragile  fibre 
then  bursts  the  large  blocks  asunder,  and  finally  covers 
them  with  fertile  soil  and  a  luxuriant  vegetation.  At 
other  times  vast  tracts  of  sea-bottom  are  dyked  in  and 
drained;  a  thousand  varieties  of  mosses  gradually  fill  it 
up,  and  form  by  their  unceasing  labor  a  rich  vegetable 
mould  for  plants  of  larger  grow^th.  Or  truly  new  lands 
are  suddenly  seen  to  claim  a  place  upon  our  globe.  An 
earthquake  shakes  a  continent  and  upheaves  the  mighty 
ocean,  until  cities  crumble  into  ruins  and  the  proud  ships 
of  man  are  ingulfed  in  the  bottomless  depths  of  the  sea. 
But  the  earthquake  rolls  away,  the  storm  rages  itself  to 
rest,  the  angry  billows  subside,  and  the  holy  calm,  which 
is  the  habitual  mood  of  nature,  is  restored  as  if  it  had 
never  been  broken.  Only,  where  yesterday  the  ocean's 
mighty  swell  passed  freely,  there  to-day  an  island  has 
risen  from  the  bosom  of  the  deep.  Vast  rocky  masses 
suddenly  raise  their  bare  heads  above  the  boiling  waters 
and  greet  the  heavens  above.  Such  was  the  origin  of 
Stromboli;  of  St,  Helena,  and  of  Tristan  d'Acunha.  Or 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant. 


157 


the  busy  host  of  corals,  after  having  built  for  a  thousand 
years  the  high  ramparts  of  their  marvellous  rings,  at  last 
rise  to  a  level  with  the  surface;  they  die,  having  done 
their  duty  in  the  great  household  of  nature,  and  bequeath 
to  man  a  low,  flat,  circular  island  which  now  first  beholds 
the  sweet  light  of  day,  above  the  dark  waves  of  the 
ocean.  Then  come  other  hosts  of  busy  servants  of  the 
Almighty,  to  do  their  duty.  A  soft,  silky  network  of 
gay,  bright  colors,  hides  after  a  few  days  the  nakedness 
of  the  rock.  It  is  a  moss  of  the  simplest  kind  we  know : 
consisting  of  single  cells  and  wondrously  short-lived.  It 
dies  and  disappears,  leaving,  apparently,  no  perceptible 
trace  behind  it ;  still,  it  has  not  lived  and  labored  in 
vain.  A  delicate,  faint  tinge,  little  more,  is  left  behind, 
and  in  that  mere  shadow  of  things  gone  by  lies  the  germ 
of  a  future,  mighty  growth.  Years  pass,  and  the  shadow 
grows  darker ;  the  spots  begin  to  run  together,  and  then 
follow  countless  hosts  of  lichens,  a  kind  of  humble  mosses, 
which  the  great  and  pious  Linnaeus  touchingly  called  the 
bondslaves  of  Nature,  because  they  are  chained  to  the  rock 
on  which  they  grow,  and,  after  death  are  buried  in  the 
soil  which  they  make  and  improve  for  others  only.  Little 
ugly,  blackish-brown  or  pale  white  plants  as  they  are, 
but  niggardly  supported  by  the  thin  air  of  mountain  tops, 
they  show  us  that  there  are  rich  garments  and  humble, 
wealth  and  poverty  among  plants  as  well  as  among  men. 
The  lowliest  and  humblest  of  plants,  these  lichens  become, 
however,  the  most  useful  servants  of  Nature,  which  here 
as  in  the  other  works  of  the  Almighty,  affords  innumer- 
able proofs  that,  throughout  creation,  the  grandest  and 


158 


Leaves  frcm  the  Book  of  Nature. 


most  complicated  ends  are  obtained  by  the  employment 
of  the  simplest  means.  These  tiny,  faintly  colored  cups 
live,  truly  aerial  plants,  on  the  most  stei'ile  rock,  without 
a  particle  of  mould  or  soil  beneath  them,  nourished  alone 
by  invisible  moisture  in  the  atmosphere.  Modestly  choos- 
ing the  most  exposed  situations,  they  spread  line  by  line, 
inch  by  inch,  and  push  up  the  little  urns  which  crown  their 
short  stems,  amidst  rain,  frost,  and  snow.  In  these  urns 
they  treasure  up  their  minute,  dustlike  seeds,  until  they 
ripen ;  a  small  lid  which  has  until  then  been  held  back  by 
elastic  threads,  now  suddenly  rises,  and  as  from  a  minia- 
ture mortar  they  shoot  forth  little  yellow  balls,  w^hich 
cover  the  ground  around  them.  And  thus  they  work  on, 
quiet,  unobserved  and  unthanked.  Dressed  in  the  plainest 
garb  of  Nature,  growing  more  slowly  than  any  other  plant 
on  earth,  they  work  unceasingly  until,  as  their  last  and 
greatest  sacrifice,  they  have  to  dig  their  own  graves !  Tor 
Providence  has  given  them  a  powerful  oxalic  acid,  which 
eats  its  way  slowly  into  the  rock;  w^ater  and  other  mois- 
ture is  caught  in  the  minute  indentations,  there  it  is  heated 
and  frozen,  until  it  rends  the  crumbling  stone  into  frag- 
ments, and  thus  aids  in  forming  a  soil.  Centuries  often 
pass,  and  generations  after  generations  of  these  humble 
bondslaves  perform  their  cruel  duty,  before  the  eye  can 
see  a  change  in  the  rock  that  still  looks  bleak  and  barren. 

Now,  however,  comes  a  feint  but  clear  tinge  of  green. 
It  is  a  mere  film  still,  but  visible  to  the  naked  eye,  and 
showing  the  higher  and  more  luxuriant  forms  of  graceful 
mosses,  mixed  with  fungi  which  interpose  their  tiny  globes 
and  miniature  umbrellas.    They  come,  we  know  not  whence, 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant. 


159 


for  the  slightest  crevice  in  the  bare  rock  suffices  to  arrest 
some  of  the  invisible  germs  which  are  constantly  floating 
in  the  air,  and  affords  them  a  home.  They  yield  nothing 
in  industry  and  perseverance  to  their  humble  predeces- 
sors ;  hardy  little  laborers  in  the  same  great  work,  they 
seem  to  delight  in  the  clouds  and  storms  of  a  wintry 
season,  when  all  other  verdure  fades.  They  find  a  home, 
and  live  and  thrive  with  equal  contentment  in  the  burning 
cinders  of  volcanic  islands,  like  Ascension,  on  which  they 
formed  the  first  green  crust  after  it  had  risen  from  the 
ocean,  and  on  the  tempest-beaten  boulders  of  Norwegian 
granite,  which  they  cover  with  a  scarlet  coating,  well  known 
as  the  violet  stone  and  full  of  rich,  sweet  perfume.  As 
they  wither  and  die,  minute  layers  of  soil  are  formed, 
one  after  another,  until  grasses  and  herbs  can  find  a  foot- 
hold: shrubs  with  their  hardy  roots  now  begin  to  inter- 
lace the  loose  fragments  of  earth  and  to  bind  the  very 
stones  to  a  more  permanent  structure.  The  ground  grows 
richer  and  richer,  until  at  last  the  tree  springs  from  the 
soil,  and,  where  once  the  ocean  and  the  tempest  alone 
beat  on  the  bare  rock,  there  we  see  now  the  lordly  monarch 
of  the  forest  raise  its  lofty  cro^vn,  and  under  its  rich 
foliage  shelter  bird  and  beast  from  the  spray  and  the 
storm.  Soon  all  is  fertile  meadow,  tangled  thicket,  and 
wide-spreading  forest.  Nor  is  this  always  and  necessarily 
a  slow,  painful  progress.  The  bold  navigator  Boussin- 
gault  witnessed  once,  in  the  south  of  this  continent,  one 
of  those  stupendous  earthquakes  which  seem  to  rend  the 
very  foundations  of  our  globe.  Mountains  rose  and  plains 
were  changed  into  lakes.    Huge  masses  of  porphyry  were 


160  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

scattered  over  fertile  fields  and  covered  all  vegetation, 
changing  the  bright  prairie  into  a  scene  of  utter  desola- 
tion. Ten  short  years  later  the  great  captain  was  again 
on  the  same  spot.  But  what  a  change!  The  bare  wild 
masses  were  covered  with  a  young  luxuriant  grove  of 
locusts,  and  a  thousand  cattle  were  grazing  on  the  hills. 

Thus  we  are  taught  how  nature  proceeds,  in  our  day, 
from  the  green  matter  gathering  on  our  ponds  to  the 
giant  tree  of  the  forest.  But  if  we  turn  to  the  individual 
plant — how  little  do  we  as  yet  know  of  its  simple  struc- 
ture !  Who  can  solve  the  mystery  that  pervades  its  silent 
yet  ever-active  life  1  There  is  something  in  the  very  still- 
ness of  that  unknown  power  which  awes  and  subdues  us. 
Man  may  forcibly  obstruct  the  path  of  a  growing  twig, 
but  it  turns  quietly  aside  and  moves  patiently,  irresistibly 
on,  in  its  appointed  way.  Wood  and  iron — even  powerful 
steam — they  all  obey  him  and  become  the  humble  slaves 
of  his  intellect.  But  the  life  of  the  lowest  of  plants  defies 
him.  He  may  extinguish  it  to  be  sure ;  but  to  make 
use  of  a  living  plant,  he  must  obey  it,  study  its  wants 
and  tendencies,  and  mould,  in  fact,  his  own  proud  will 
to  the  humblest  grass  that  grows  at  his  feet.  Thus  we 
have  learned  the  biography  of  plants,  few  events  of  which 
are  without  interest  even  to  the  general  observer. 

On  old  walls  and  damp  palings,  or  in  glasses  in  which 
we  have  left  soft  water  standing  for  several  days  in  sum- 
mer, we  find  often  a  delicate,  bright  green  and  almost 
velvety  coat — this  is  the  first  beginning  of  all  vegetation. 
What  we  see  is  a  number  of  small  round  cells,  and  one 
of  these   delicate  cells,  a  little  globe   as  large  as  the 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant. 


161 


thousandth  part  of  an  inch,  is  the  beginning  of  every  plant 
in  creation.  These  cells  are  the  living  stones  of  which 
this  great  temple  of  nature  is  built.  Each  minute  cell, 
moreover,  is  an  independent  plant,  vegetating  as  a  living 
organism  and  having  a  life  of  its  own.  There  are  whole 
races  of  plants,  like  the  algae  and  the  common  mould 
forming  on  decaying  matter,  which  consist  each  only  of 
a  single  cell,  although  in  varied  and  often  most  elegant 
forms,  with  a  brilliant  display  of  bright  color. 

The  first  germ  of  a  plant,  then,  has  already  a  life — 
for  it  feeds,  works  and  produces.  It  takes  all  its  nutri- 
ment from  without.  How,  we  know  not,  for  although 
plants  have  no  table  hanging  at  their  gates  with  a  surly 
No  Admittance ;  although  they  work,  on  the  contrary, 
before  every  body's  eyes,  unfortunately  human  eyes  are 
not  strong  enough  to  discern  the  mysterious  process  that 
is  going  on  in  their  minute  chambers.  Even  armed  with 
the  most  powerful  microscope,  we  cannot  penetrate  the 
mystery,  and  know  not  yet  by  what  incomprehensible  in- 
stinct these  diminutive  cells,  all  unaided,  pick  up  and  select 
their  food,  and  arrange  the  new  material  so  as  to  present 
us  at  last  with  a  perfect  double  of  the  graceful  palm,  the 
queenly  Victoria  or  the  gigantic  Baobab.  It  heightens  the 
wonder  that  all  this  power  lies  in  a  seed  minute  enough 
to  be  invisible  to  the  naked  eye,  and  to  be  wafted  about 
by  a  breath  of  air.  And  yet  it  must  be  endowed  with 
most  subtle  and  varied  gifts,  for  out  of  the  same  food 
plants  are  enabled  to  form  a  thousand  rare  substances : 
now  bringing  forth  nutritious  and  agreeable  food  for  man, 
now  yielding  materials  most  valuable  to  the  arts  of  life, 


162  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

and  now  ministering  to  the  vilest  wants  of  degenerate 
man  and  arming  him  with  deadly  poison. 

But  these  little  cells  are  not  consumers  only ;  they  live 
and  work  not  for  the  day  merely,  but  for  the  future  also. 
An  almost  invisible  point  in  the  cell  begins  to  swell  and 
to  increase,  as  it  consumes  first  the  colorless  fluid,  then 
the  soft  substance,  and  at  last  even  the  tissue  of  the  outer 
walls  of  the  cell,  until — already  at  this  early  stage  of 
vegetable  life — death  ensues,  and  out  of  death  comes  new 
life.  The  old  cell  dies,  giving  birth,  indeed,  as  a  mother, 
to  other  cells,  and  thus  gradually  building  up  the  full- 
grown  plant.  The  young  ones  leave  their  former  home, 
after  an  equally  mysterious  design,  according  to  the  posi- 
tion they  are  hereafter  to  occupy  in  the  structure  of  the 
plant,  and  the  function  they  are  destined  to  perform. 

Here  is  the  great  turning  point  in  the  history  of  veget- 
able life.  All  plants  consist  of  cells  of  the  same  kind 
and  of  the  same  round  or  oblong  form — but  the  arrange- 
ment and  the  subsequent  shape  of  these  cells  differ  in 
each  variety  of  plants.  The  finger  of  the  Almighty  writes 
on  the  transparent  walls  of  these  microscopic  cells  as 
momentous  words  as  those  that  appeared  in  flames  on  the 
gorgeous  walls  of  the  Syrian  palace.  Only  one  feature 
of  this  wonderful  design  is  permanent  and  common  to  all : 
no  cell  produces  more  than  two  others ;  of  these  only  one 
is  again  productive,  it  fuids  a  place  on  the  outside,  where 
its  activity  is  unfettered,  and  dies  after  it  has  performed 
its  duty.  The  other  remains  within,  grows  harder  and 
thicker,  until  it  can  expand  no  longer  ;  the  thickening  sub- 
i?tance  coats  the  inner  walls,  fills  up  the  interior,  and  thus 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant. 


163 


gives  strength  and  firmness  to  the  beautiful  structure.  In 
some  plants  this  development  of  new  cells  goes  on  slowly ; 
in  others  with  truly  marvellous  rapidity,  as  in  one  of  the 
fungi,  which  forms  twenty  thousand  visible  cells  in  a  single 
rninute ! 

But  the  minute,  delicate  form  would  be  but  short-lived, 
and  fall  an  easy  prey  to  the  first  rude  breath  of  air,  if 
nature  did  not  here  also  instil  the  great  lesson,  that  Union 
is  Strength.  That  wondrous  chemical  laboratory,  contained 
in  the  mysterious  seclusion  of  each  cell,  produces  next  a 
cement  which  permeates  the  walls,  and  glues  cell  to  cell, 
so  that,  hardly  developed,  they  cannot  move  from  the 
spot,  and,  though  provided  w^ith  life  and  strength  for  long 
generations,  they  are  still,  like  Prometheus,  bound  for  ever 
on  the  rock  of  adjoining  cells.  At  the  extremities  of 
plants  this  glue  hardens  into  a  thick  varnish;  it  is  this 
material  which  gives  density  and  mechanical  strength  to 
the  so-called  woody  fibres ;  it  forms  the  bark  of  trees 
and  covers  the  plum  with  a  coating  of  wax.  It  appears 
as  a  viscid  layer  on  the  leaves  of  water  plants,  which 
are  thus  made  slippery  to  the  touch  and  impermeable  to 
water,  or  as  a  blue  powder  on  our  cabbage,  which  can 
be  wholly  immersed  without  being  wetted.  Only  here 
and  there,  but  even  in  the  hardest  and  fullest  cells,  tubes 
of  a  spiral  form  are  left  open.  Some  are  mere  small  jail 
windows,  imperceptible  to  the  naked  eye,  and  only  lately 
discovered;  but  they  always  meet,  in  unfailing  regularity, 
with  a  similar  tiny  look-out  from  the  neighbor,  so  that 
Nature  evidently  does  not  seem  to  approve  of  solitary  con- 
finement.   Others  are  larger,  and  serve  as  air  passages; 


164  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

for  Nature,  a  good  architect,  knows  the  necessity  of  ventila 
tion,  and  provides  for  it  in  the  humblest  of  lowly  mosses 
with  as  much  care  as  in  the  lofty  dome  of  the  universe. 
In  aquatic  plants,  moreover,  these  same  tubes  render  them 
buoyant,  as  in  one  of  the  huge  fucus  that  grow  from  the 
bottom  of  the  ocean.  All  along  the  immense  stem,  which 
reaches  from  the  vast  deep  up  to  the  light  of  day,  little 
vessels  occur,  filled  with  air,  and  it  is  by  these  tiny  bal- 
loons, thus  continued  from  story  to  story,  that  the  enor- 
mous leaves  of  the  giant  plant  are  buoyed  up,  and  finally 
enabled  to  float  on  the  surface,  covering  the  waves  with 
an  immense  carpet  of  verdure.  And  thus,  with  unerring 
regularity,  which,  in  an  almost  endless  variety  of  forms, 
still  maintains  those  great  laws  of  Nature  that  betoken 
the  will  of  the  Most  High,  these  same  cells  have  been 
formed,  not  only  in  the  parent  plant  for  its  next  successor, 
but  during  thousands  of  generations;  and  that  on  all  parts 
of  the  earth,  in  the  same  way,  the  same  shape !  Well 
may  we,  then,  with  a  distinguished  German  botanist,  look 
upon  the  vegetable  world  as  the  rich  altar-cloth  in  the 
temple  of  God  where  we  worship  the  beautiful  and  the 
sublime,  because  it  is  His  handiwork. 

Plants  live^  then,  and  feed.  Little  do  we  commonly 
think,  little  do  we  therefore  know  of  the  way  in  which 
they  live  and  feed.  We  see  animals  take  their  food  openlj 
and  grossly,  in  the  most  conspicuous  and  eminent  part  of 
their  body,  they  tear  and  swallow,  ruminate  or  masticate. 
We  ourselves  do  something  in  that  line.  But  delicate 
plants  hide  the  coarse  process  of  nutrition  under  ground, 
or  within  the  close  walls  of  each  tiny  cell.     There,  wdth 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant. 


1G5 


wondrous  art,  and  never  resting  day  or  night,  summer  or 
winter,  they  draw  a  few  simple  elements,  mainly  water, 
from  air  and  soil,  and,  by  their  own  power  and  labor, 
live  upon  them  not  only,  but  manage  to  obtain  all  the 
material  necessary  for  an  almost  unlimited  growth,  until 
the  smallest  seed  has  upreared  gigantic  masses  of  wood 
and  foliage,  and  the  grain  of  mustard  has  grown  into  a 
tree,  in  whose  branches  the  fowls  of  heaven  have  their 
habitation.  Each  little  microscopic  cell  is  its  own  busy 
chemist,  dissolving  all  it  needs,  even  small  particles  of 
silica,  in  water,  and  changing  it  into  food  and  new  sub- 
stances. Tlie  material  we  know,  and  the  fact  that  it  is 
introduced — but  then  we  stand  again  at  the  threshold  of 
that  mystery  with  which  Nature  surrounds  all  first  begin- 
nings. The  night  of  the  cell,  where  this  strange  process 
is  going  on,  is  the  same  as  that  in  which  the  grain  has 
to  be  buried,  in  order  to  rise  once  more  to  light  as  a 
tender  blade.  We  are  again  taught  that  the  knowledge 
of  first  causes  belongs  to  Him  alone,  who  allows  the  eye 
of  man  to  see  final  causes  only,  and  even  those,  as  yet, 
merely  through  a  glass,  dimly. 

The  general  process  of  feeding,  in  a  plant,  as  far  as 
known,  is  simply  this:  The  universal  and  indispensable 
nutrient  substance,  and,  at  the  same  time,  that  by  means 
of  which  all  the  rest  are  conveyed  into  it,  is  water. 
Without  water  there  is  no  vegetation.  The  deserts  of 
Arabia,  the  w^est  coast  of  Bolivia,  and  similar  regions,  are 
barren,  not  because  they  are  rocky  and  sandy,  but  because 
it  only  rains  there  once  in  twelve  years,  and  that  not 
always,  and  they  have  neither  dew  nor  watery  deposits. 


166  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

This  water,  with  all  the  materials  it  may  contain,  is  sucked 
up  by  the  delicate  fibres  at  the  end  of  roots  ;  thence  it 
rises,  probably  by  capillary  attraction,  upwards,  transuding 
through  the  cells  by  apertures  invisible  to  the  highest 
microscopic  power,  and  filling  cell  afi;er  cell.  Here  it 
mingles  with  the  fluid  which  they  already  contain,  pro- 
duces new  combinations,  and  is  then  called  sap.  Hence 
these  little  cells,  when  searched  with  the  microscope,  are 
found  to  be  filled  with  an  almost  incredible  variety  of 
good  things.  Some,  it  is  true,  contain  apparently  nothing 
but  a  watery  juice,  but  its  virtues  may  yet  be  disco- 
vered ;  others  are  little  vials  filled  with  gum  or  sugar ; 
in  many  plants  they  are  found  to  hold  just  one  drop  of 
oil,  and  in  others  sugar,  or  to  inclose  beautiful  crystals 
of  every  possible  shape.  Through  these  cells  the  sap  as- 
cends, until  it  reaches  the  main  workshop  of  plants — the 
leaves.  These  bring  it  in  contact  with  the  air,  which  they 
in  their  turn  suck  in  by  minute  openings  and  exhale  again, 
after  it  has  combined  with  parts  of  the  ascended  water. 
It  is  this  continued  exhalation  of  the  leaves,  and  absorp- 
tion by  the  roots,  which  constitutes  the  circulation,  the 
Life  of  Plants.  They  produce  a  constant  interchange  be- 
tween soil  and  air,  and  stand  in  direct  proportion  to  each 
other.  Tor  the  sap  rises  with  a  rapidity  corresponding 
to  the  exhalation  of  the  leaves.  Hence,  in  winter,  when 
there  are  no  leaves,  there  is  no  sap  ascending.  Hence, 
also,  in  spring  the  earth  sometimes  opens  sooner  than  the 
leaves  appear ;  the  sap  ascends,  finds  no  outlet,  and  gorges 
the  tree  with  fluid.  Man  comes  to  its  aid,  taps  the  drop- 
sical plant,  and  draws  from  the  maple  its  sugar  and  from 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant. 


107 


the  palm  its  sweet  wine.  That  part  of  the  sap  which 
is  not  absorbed  in  its  way  upward,  and  not  given  out 
to  the  air  through  the  leaves,  returns  again  on  its  mys- 
terious errand,  depositing  here  and  there  the  material  most 
needed,  and  hoarding  up,  at  intervals,  large  quantities  that 
are  not  immediately  required  for  future  wants.  Such 
provisions,  carefully  stowed  away,  are  found  in  the  potato, 
which  is  little  else  than  a  magazine  of  nutritive  matter, 
or  in  the  sage  of  palm  trees  and  the  caoutchouc  of  South 
America.  Lastly,  that  part  of  the  material  imbibed,  which 
is  useless  or  might  be  injurious — for  plants,  like  animals, 
may  be  poisoned — is  thrown  out  again  at  night  in  the 
form  of  manna  or  resin ;  and  thus  secures  the  plant  from 
all  dangers. 

All  these  features  in  the  life  of  plants,  however,  are 
visible  to  the  microscope  only.  What  we  see  with  the 
unarmed  eye,  is  not  less  wonderful.  The  tiny  seed  once 
intrusted  to  the  bosom  of  mother  earth,  as  soon  as  the 
sunlight  falls  upon  it,  and  genial  beams  warm  the  light 
crust  under  which  it  is  buried,  begins  to  move  and  to 
change.  Its  starch  is  converted  into  sugar  and  gum,  upon 
which  the  young  plant  is  to  feed  during  the  first  days  of 
its  existence.  The  tiny  root  peeps  forth  from  the  husk, 
and  by  a  mysteriously  directed  power,  plunges  downward 
into  the  fertile  soil,  whilst  the  slender  plumule  pushes 
upwards  towards  the  light.  The  soil  cracks  and  heaves, 
and  at  last  the  infant  vegetable  being  emerges  fresh  and 
moist  into  the  world  of  air  and  sunshine ;  with  the  un- 
folding of  its  first  pair  of  leaves,  and  with  the  first  light- 
ing of  a  sunbeam  on  their  tender  tissues,  commences  that 


168  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

series  of  incessant  and  as  yet  secret  chemical  operations, 
to  which  we  have  before  alluded.  And  the  marvel  is  still 
increased,  when  we  consider  how  strangely  alilie  thousands 
of  seeds  are  one  to  another,  how  slight  the  difference  even 
between  the  most  unlike.  And  yet,  two  such  tiny  seeds, 
planted  in  the  same  soil  and  living  apparently  on  the 
same  food,  produce  the  one  an  humble  herb,  the  other 
a  mighty  tree.  Well  may  we  ask,  w^hat  wondrous  forma- 
tive power  resides  there  in  these  little  cells,  tending  ex- 
actly in  one  direction,  as  though  an  ideal  figure,  gradually 
to  be  realized,  floated  already  before  their  infant  eyes  ? 

The  first  business,  then,  of  the  young  plant  seems  to 
be,  to  settle  firmly  down  in  the  home  which  is  to  see 
it  grow,  prosper  and  die.  It  sends  its  roots  down  into 
the  ground,  in  a  hundred  various  forms.  Sometimes  they 
are  divided  into  a  number  of  slender  threads,  to  pene- 
trate into  loose,  sandy  soil,  as  in  the  grasses,  that  bind 
the  arid  sands  of  the  sea-coast  together  with  their  long, 
articulated  roots,  and  thus  protect  the  dykes  of  -  Holland 
against  the  fury  of  the  ocean.  Others  are  in  the  form 
of  a  single,  straight  and  powerful  taproot,  to  pierce  firm, 
solid  ground — or  even  in  long  flat  scales,  which  adhere 
and  fasten  themselves  to  bare  rocks.  Tender,  delicate 
fibres  though  they  be,  these  roots  possess  an  incredible 
power.  Even  in  the  slim,  slender  grass  they  are  so  firmly 
interlaced  w^ith  the  soil,  that  they  cannot  be  torn  out 
without  a  large  mass  of  earth,  and  therefore  compel  us 
to  cut  or  saw  off  the  straw  of  our  grain.  With  large 
trees  they  serve  as  gigantic  anchors,  chaining  the  mighty 
monarch  to  the  earth  by  their  powerful  and  wide-spreading 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant. 


1G9 


arms,  and  firmly  supporting  it  thus  against  the  immense 
mechanical  force  of  wind  which  beats  above  against  the 
large  surface  presented  by  its  huge  branches,  covered  with 
dense  foliage.  In  their  downward  progress  they  turn  aside 
from  no  obstacle.  The  roots  of  the  colossal  chestnut-tree 
on  Mount  Etna,  under  whose  deep  shade  a  hundred  horse- 
men have  easily  found  shelter,  penetrate  through  rock  and 
lava  to  the  springs  at  the  very  foot  of  the  mountain. 
Massive  blocks  are  lifted  up  by  roots  as  if  with  irre- 
sistible force.  The  beautiful  trees  that  flourish  amid  the 
ruined  temples  of  Central  America,  upheave  huge  frag- 
ments of  those  enormous  structures  high  into  the  air,  and 
hold  them  there  as  if  in  derision.  In  fact,  the  latent  en- 
ergy and  slowly  accumulated  force  of  these  slender  fibres 
in  the  process  of  forcing  their  way  through  walls  and 
rocks  of  vast  size,  is  only  equalled  by  the  grace  of  their 
movement  and  form;  and  this  union  of  power  and  beauty, 
the  one  latent,  the  other  obvious,  explains,  in  part  at  least, 
the  singular  charm  that  the  vegetable  world  exercises  over 
JO  many  strong  but  susceptible  minds. 

But  roots  serve  not  only  as  fastenings :  they  are,  as 
has  already  been  mentioned,  the  principal  avenues  for  the 
introduction  of  food  into  the  plant.  They  operate  by 
means  of  most  delicate  fibres  at  the  end,  called  spongi(5les, 
endowed  with  so  minute  openings,  that  all  nutriment  to 
be  taken  in  must  be  liquid.  Nor  is  it  the  least  of  the 
mysteries  of  plant  life,  that  these  fine,  slender  roots  do 
not  absorb  all  that  is  presented  to  them  in  a  liquid  form, 
but  evidently  have  a  power  of  discrimination.  They  open 
or  close  their  minute  apertures  at  will,  admitting  only 
8 


170  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


fluids  of  a  certain  consistency,  and  thus  select  those  sub- 
stances which  are  best  adapted  to  the  growth  and  welfare 
of  the  plant.  The  finer,  suitable  material  is  taken  in, 
the  coarser  rejected.  Repeated,  careful  experiments  have 
proved  this  beyond  doubt.  A  grain  of  wheat  and  a  pea, 
raised  in  the  same  soil,  and  under  absolutely  the  same 
circumstances,  draw  entirely  different  substances  from  the 
earth.  The  wheat  consumes  all  the  silica  or  flinty  matter, 
that  water  can  absorb,  while  the  pea  takes  up  no  flint, 
consuming,  on  the  other  hand,  whatever  lime  or  calcareous 
matter  the  water  of  the  soil  may  contain. 

Thus  the  roots  of  a  plant  pump  up  nearly  all  the  nu- 
triment that  is  required  and  at  least  ninety-nine  per  cent 
of  all  the  water  which  the  plant  needs,  the  only  other  part 
needed  being  brought  by  the  vapors  of  the  atmosphere 
and  absorbed  through  the  humus.  They  perform  this  duty 
with  a  vigor  little  suspected  by  the  inattentive ;  but  if 
we  cut  a  vine  and  fasten  a  bladder  to  the  wound  at  the 
time  when  the  sap  is  rising,  it  will  in  a  short  time  be 
filled  and  finally  burst ;  and  it  has  been  stated  that  the 
root  of  an  elm-tree,  which  was  by  accident  badly  wounded, 
poured  forth,  in  a  few  hours,  several  gallons  of  water. 

Not  all  roots,  however,  have  to  perform  this  difficult 
and  responsible  task  of  extracting  food  from  the  earth 
around  them ;  those  of  aquatic  plants  draw  it  directly 
from  the  water  itself,  as>  in  our  common  duckweed,  where 
each  little  leaf  has  its  own  tiny  root,  a  single  fibre,  which 
hangs  from  the  lower  surface.  In  the  mangrove,  on  the 
contrary,  they  form  a  kind  of  enormous  network  in  the 
water,  which  intercepts  all  solid  matter,  that  floats  down 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant. 


171 


rivers  and  estuaries,  until  the  thus  arrested  and  decoiri- 
posing  substances  form  fever-breeding  swamps.  When  the 
flood  recedes  the  roots  are  left  uncovered,  and  often  found 
filled  with  shell-fish — a  fact  which  explains  the  wonderful 
tales  of  early  travellers  in  the  tropics,  that  there  were 
trees  found  in  the  East  and  West  Indies  on  whose  branches 
oysters  were  growing. 

Other  roots  have  no  home  in  earth  or  water ;  they 
must  even  be  content  to  hang,  all  their  lifetime,  high  and 
dry  in  the  air.  Some,  it  is  true,  accomplish  a  firmer 
settlement,  late  in  life,  as  those  of  the  screwpine  of  the 
tropics,  which  grow  not  only  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  but 
for  a  considerable  height  from  all  parts  of  the  trunk,  to 
protect  the  plant  against  violent  winds.  From  thence 
they  hang  down  into  the  air  and  furnish  us  with  a  beautiful 
evidence  of  creative  design  in  the  structures  of  the  vegeta- 
ble world.  They  are,  namely,  at  this  stage  of  their  growth, 
provided  with  a  kind  of  cup  at  each  extremity,  which 
catches  every  stray  drop  of  rain  and  dew,  and  thus  en- 
ables them  both  to  grow  themselves  and  to  furnish  nutri- 
ment to  the  parent  plant.  In  the  course  of  time,  however, 
they  reach  the  ground,  and  instantly  these  cups  fall  off, 
as  the  roots  now  need  such  extraordinary  assistance  no 
longer.  Others  spend  their  lives,  literally,  in  building  cas- 
tles in  the  air.  Almost  all  the  orchids  of  the  Tropics 
use  a  tree,  a  block  of  wood,  or  a  stone,  merely  as  a 
support  on  which  to  settle  down,  and  over  which  to  spread 
their  aerial  roots.  These,  however,  do  not  penetrate  into 
the  substance;  the  plants  have  no  other  source  of  nutri- 
ment than  the  vapor  of  the  damp,  heated  atmosphere 


172  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

which  constantly  surrounds  them,  and  from  which  alone 
they  are  supplied  with  food  by  those  same  roots,  that  thus 
serve  the  double  purpose  of  claspers  and  feeders.  Even 
law-defying  squatters  are  found  among  the  plants,  as 
the  mistletoe  of  sacred  memory.  It  fastens  upon  some 
strong,  healthy  tree,  and  having  no  power  of  forming  true 
roots  for  itself,  it  sends  out  branches  which  creep  through 
crevices  in  the  bark,  into  the  wood,  so  that  the  roots  of 
the  parent  stem  must  supply  it  with  food,  and  the  para- 
sitical plant  lives,  in  truth,  upon  the  very  life's  blood  of 
the  tree  on  which  it  has  fastened  itself.  Even  the  stately 
palm  is  frequently  seen  in  the  murderous  embrace  of  a 
plant,  which  is  em'^^hatically  called  the  parricide  tree.  It 
commences,  like  every  thing  vicious,  with  a  small  and  rather 
pleasing  growth  on  the  trunk  or  among  the  branches,  then 
rapidly  extends  its  graceful  tendrils  in  every  direction,  and 
increases  in  bulk  and  strength,  until  at  last  it  winds  its 
serpent  folds  in  deadly  embrace  around  the  parent  tree. 
The  conflict  lasts  sometimes  for  years,  but  the  parricide 
is  sure  to  be  victorious  in  the  end,  and  to  strangle  the 
noble  palm  in  its  beautiful  but  deadly  coils.  The  pros- 
perity of  the  parasite  thus  becomes  an  almost  infallible 
sign  of  the  decay  of  its  victim,  and  a  most  affecting  image 
of  life  crushed  by  a  subtle,  brute  force.  And  yet  it  has 
its  redeeming  feature  in  the  remarkable  fact  that  these 
parasites  never  attack  firs  or  evergreens,  but  only  cover 
with  their  foliage  those  which  winter  deprives  of  their 
glory.  The  ivy,  which  often  wraps  the  largest  giants  of 
the  forest  in  its  dark  green  mantle,  thus  appeared  to  older 
nations  as  the  symbol  of  generous  friendship,  attaching 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant. 


173 


itself  only  to  the  unfortunate,  and  making  its  early  pro- 
tector, even  after  death,  the  pride  of  the  forests  in  which 
he  lives  no  longer — when  it  gives  him  new  life  by  cover- 
ing his  lofty  trunk  and  broad  branches  with  festoons  of 
eternal  verdure. 

Still,  wherever  roots  may  be  lodged,  in  the  dark,  still 
earth,  or  under  the  restless  waves,  in  the  damp  air  of  the 
tropics,  or  the  bark  of  a  foreign  tree — they  labor  without 
ceasing,  night  and  day,  summer  and  winter.  For  the  life 
of  plants,  and  the  work  of  their  roots,  does  not  cease  in 
winter  as  is  commonly  believed,  and  deep-rooted  trees, 
especially,  enjoy  the  benefit  of  the  warmth  which  is  laid 
up  during  summer,  in  the  crust  of  the  earth,  and  that  at 
the  very  time  when  their  branches  groan  under  a  load 
of  snow,  or  stand  encased  with  ice  and  fantastic  glittering 
pendants.  Far  under  ground  the  roots  continue  to  work 
indefatigably,  until  the  bright  sunshine  returns  once  more, 
and  they  feel  that  the  fruit  of  their  industry  can  again 
safely  ascend  through  the  dark,  gloomy  passages  of  the 
tree,  to  j^ass  at  last  into  the  merry  green  leaves,  and  there 
to  mingle  with  the  balmy  air  of  spring.  For  they  are 
a  hardy  class  of  laborers,  these  roots,  and  neither  cold 
nor  ill  treatment  checks  their  activity.  It  is  well  known, 
that  the  common  maple  tree  may  be  completely  inverted ; 
its  branches  being  buried  under  ground  and  its  roots 
spread  into  the  air,  without  being  destroyed.  The  finest 
orange  trees  in  Europe,  in  the  superb  collection  at  Dres- 
den, were  brought  as  ballast,  in  the  shape  of  mere  blocks 
of  timber,  without  roots  or  branches,  in  the  hold  of  a 
Geraian  vessel,  and  found  their  way  to  Saxony.  Some 


174  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

curious  gardener,  anxious  to  know  what  plant  furnished 
this  new  M^ood,  planted  them,  but  unfortunately  niistook 
the  upper  end  for  the  lower,  and  thus  actually  turned  the 
poor,  mutilated  trees  upside  do\Yn.  Yet,  in  spite  of  their 
early  mutilation,  the  long  sea  voyage,  and  the  subsequent 
cruel  treatment,  they  have  grown  and  flourished  beyond 
all  other  orange  trees  on  the  continent. 

The  next  step  in  the  life  of  a  plant,  after  it  has  thus 
riveted  itself  firmly  and  for  ever  to  its  mother  earth,  is 
to  send  its  stem  or  trunk  upwards.  In  doing  this,  it  is 
evidently  influenced  by  a  desire  to  approach  the  light  of 
day.  This  has  been  proved  by  experiments  as  cruel  as 
those  that  used  to  shock  our  sensibilities  in  the  days  of 
early  anatomy.  Seeds  have  been  so  placed,  that  the  light 
reflected  from  a  mirror  should  fall  upon  them  from  be- 
low, and  lo !  the  so-called  natural  direction  of  the  growth 
of  plants  was  completely  changed ;  the  stem  was  sent 
down  and  the  roots  grew  up !  When  Nature,  however, 
is  allowed  to  have  her  o^vn  way — which  we  humbly  sur- 
mise to  be  the  best — stems  grow  towards  the  light,  to 
support  the  plant  in  its  proper  position  and  to  raise  it 
to  the  requisite  height  above  ground,  where  it  may  enjoy 
air,  light  and  heat.  At  a  certain  point,  moreover,  it  spreads 
out  into  branches,  as  the  best  mode  of  presenting  the 
largest  surface,  covered  with  leaves,  to  those  necessaries 
of  life.  Plants  are  thus  enabled  to  receive  the  fullest 
action  of  light  and  air,  and  the  branches  are,  besides,  so 
arranged  that  they  yield  readily  to  the  fitful  impulses  of 
winds,  and  quickly  return,  by  their  elasticity,  to  their  na 
tural  position. 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant.  175 

In  similar  beautiful  adaptation  to  outward  circumstances, 
^.ve  find  that  the  stem  of  the  graceful  palm-tree  is  high 
and  slender,  but  built  up  of  unusually  tough,  woody  fibres, 
so  that  it  sways  gently  to  and  fro  in  the  breeze,  and  yet 
resists  the  fiercest  storms,  while  the  lofty  bare  trunk  gives 
free  passage  to  every  breath  of  air,  and  the  broad  flat 
top  tempers  the  burning  sun  and  shades  the  fruit  hanging 
down  in  rich  clusters.  The  solemn  and  imposing  fir  tree, 
on  the  other  hand,  branches  low,  but  just  high  enough  to 
let  man  pass  beneath,  and  then  drops  its  branches  at  the 
extremities,  like  a  roof,  exposing,  on  terrace  after  terrace, 
its  small  fruit  to  all  aspects  of  the  sun,  and,  in  winter, 
letting  the  heavy  snow  glide  down  on  the  smooth  polished 
leaves.  If  the  palm  were  a  pyramid  like  the  pine,  it  would 
fall  before  the  first  storm  of  the  tropics ;  if  the  pine  were 
tall  and  shaped  like  a  broad  parasol,  the  snow  and  ice 
of  the  north  would  break  it  by  their  heavy  weight.  Yet, 
both  the  burning  tropics  and  the  arctic  zone  have  their 
evergreens.  At  the  south  it  is  the  towering  peim  that 
protects,  with  its  gigantic  leaves,  all  that  lives  against  the 
fierce  heat,  and  lets  the  ground  be  covered  with  green 
creepers  and  countless  ferns,  to  keep  it  fresh  and  cool. 
At  the  north  it  is  the  dark  pine,  whose  lofty,  dense  py- 
ramid and  ample  branches,  covered  with  ghastly  moss, 
protect,  in  like  manner,  the  ground  underneath,  so  that 
■reindeer  and  man  may  find  their  abundance  of  soft  dry 
leaves  and  thick  layers  of  downy  rriosses. 

It  is  this  part  of  the  plant  which  gives  it,  in  common 
^ife,  its  proper  rank  and  name  in  the  vegetable  kingdom. 
When  the  stem  is  not  woody  and  dies  after  the  flowering 


176  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

season,  wc  speak  of  it  as  an  herb,  while  a  shrub  has  al- 
ready a  greater  size  and  a  stem  that  branches  at  the  base. 
The  tree  lifts  its  head  high  into  the  air,  and  divides  mostly 
above.  The  stems  of  climbers  and  creepers  are  long,  thin 
and  winding,  whilst  runners  crawl  along  on  the  ground  or 
beneath  it,  and  produce  new  plants  at  their  termination. 

The  stem  has  frequently  a  decided  tendency  to  grow 
spirally;  in  creepers  it  is  twisted  from  the  root  to  the 
end,  the  better  to  enable  them  to  lay  hold  of  and  to  em- 
brace the  objects  around  which  they  twine.  So  it  is  in 
all  climbing  plants  and  their  tendrils,  and  they  derive  from 
this  peculiar  structure  such  strength,  that  they  are  found, 
in  South  America,  to  form  long,  slender,  but  perfectly 
safe  bridges  over  broad  rivers.  Even  large  trees  have 
frequently  the  same  spiral  tendency,  as  we  see  in  many 
a  blasted  trunk  in  our  forests,  or  when  we  attempt  to 
remove  the  bark  from  a  cherry  tree,  which  will  not  tear 
straight  and  must  be  torn  off  in  a  spiral. 

In  the  stem,  also,  we  see  the  main  differences  of  the 
growth  of  various  kinds  of  wood  in  a  beautiful  variety  of 
grain  and  wavy  lines.  Its  outside  is  protected  by  barJc^ 
sometimes  smooth,  as  if  polished ;  in  others,  as  in  the 
pine,  carved  in  huge  square  pieces ;  hard  and  invulner- 
able as  stone  in  the  cypress,  but  cut  and  cracked  in  the 
elm.  Most  mountain  trees  have  their  bark  deeply  fur- 
rowed with  numerous  channels,  to  lead  the  moisture  of 
rain  and  dew  down  to  the  rocky  home  of  their  deep 
buried  roots.  Dark  colored  and  soft  in  tropic  climes,  to 
resist  the  heat,  it  is  white  as  snow  in  the  Arctic  regions, 
and  in  northern  trees,  as  birches  and  willows,  in  order 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant. 


177 


to  reflect  what  little  heat  is  found  in  such  high  latitudes. 
The  bark  is,  moreover,  the  last  part  of  a  plant  that  de- 
cays, and  in  some  trees  may  be  called  almost  indestruc- 
tible. Thus  Plutarch  and  Pliny  both  tell  us,  that  when, 
four  hundred  years  after  the  death  of  the  great  lawgiver 
Numa  Pompilius,  his  grave  was  opened,  the  body  of  the 
king  was  a  handful  of  dust,  but  the  delicate  bark,  on 
which  his  laws  had  been  written,  was  found  uninjured  by 
his  side. 

Not  all  stems,  however,  are  of  the  same  firm,  upright 
structure.  Nature  shows  beauty  not  only  in  the  forms 
themselves,  but  even  more  in  their  endless  variety.  In 
the  cactus  family  stems  are  represented  by  what  we  com- 
monly, though  erroneously,  call  their  leaves,  viz.,  fleshy 
expansions,  tumid  with  watery  juice,  and  clothed  with  a 
leathery  cuticle,  instead  of  bark.  Of  all  cactuses,  but  one 
has  real  leaves :  all  others  possess  little  more  than  mis^ 
erable  substitutes  in  the  form  of  tufts  of  hair,  thorns  and 
spines.  These  only,  as  far  as  they  go,  are  their  true 
leaves.  The  stems,  it  is  well  known,  display  in  this  same 
family  an  unusual  variety  of  odd,  outlandish-looking  shapes. 
Now  they  rise,  under  the  name  of  torch-thistle,  in  a  single 
branchless  column  to  the  height  of  forty  feet ;  and  now 
they  spread  their  ghastly,  fleshless  arms  in  all  directions, 
like  gigantic  funereal  candelabras.  The  melon-cactus  imi- 
tates, in  shape  and  bristling  spines,  the  hedgehog  to  per- 
fection, whilst  the  so-called  mammillaria  are  smooth  or 
ribbed  globes  of  all  sizes.  Others,  at  last,  grow  lon- 
gitudinally, like  the  long  whip-like  serpent-cactus,  which 
swings  ominously  from  the  trees  on  which  it  lives  as  a 
8* 


178  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

parasite.  Nature,  however,  has  made  them  ample  compen- 
sation for  their  uncouth  appearance  and  gloomy,  wretched 
aspect,  by  giving  them  a  profusion  of  flowers  of  unsur- 
passed brilliancy. 

The  snake-like  form  of  the  last  mentioned  cactus  is  still 
more  strikingly  presented  in  the  stem  of  the  lianes  of 
South  America.  They  are  almost  entirely  stem.  Stretched 
out  like  the  strong  cordage  of  a  vessel,  on  which  tiger- 
cats  run  up  and  down  with  wonderful  agility,  or  w^inding 
serpent-like  in  and  out,  now  as  cords  and  now  like  flat 
straps,  they  extend  frequently  more  than  a  hundred  feet, 
without  leaves  and  without  branches.  Jn  the  primeval 
forests  of  the  tropics  they  may  be  seen  hanging  from 
tree  to  tree,  often  ascending  one,  circling  it  until  they 
choke  his  life's  blood  in  him — then  wantonly  leaping  over 
to  another — next  falling  in  graceful  festoons,  and  then 
climbing  up  again  to  the  topmost  summit  of  a  palm, 
where,  at  last,  they  wave  perhaps  their  bunch  of  splendid 
flowers  in  the  highest,  purest  air.  Repulsive  in  them- 
selves, these  lianes  also  grow  beautiful  by  the  contrast 
they  present  with  the  sturdy  monarch  of  the  forest,  around 
which  they  twine,  a  contrast  which  yet,  as  every  thing 
in  nature,  produces  harmony.  How  different  are  these 
stems  again  from  the  beautiful  structure  of  the  various 
grasses !  Here  a  slender  column  rises,  som-etiraes  to  the 
height  of  a  few  inches  only,  as  in  our  common  mountain 
grasses,  and  then,  again,  in  the  bamboo,  to  a  towering 
height,  waving  their  wide-spread  tops  in  the  evening  breeze, 
or  growing  like  the  gigantic  grasses  on  the  banks  of  the 
Orinoco,  to  a  height  of  more  than  thirty  feet,  where  they 


Younger  Years  of  a.  Plant. 


179 


liave  joints  that  measure  over  eighteen  feet  from  knot  to 
knot,  and  serve  the  Indians  of  that  country  as  blowpipes, 
with  which  they  kill  even  large  animals.  And  yet  the 
delicate  graceful  tissue  of  all  these  grasses  resists,  by  their 
wondrous  structure,  the  storm  that  would  break  columns 
of  granite,  of  the  same  height  and  thickness !  Nature 
knows  full  well  that  a  slender  hollow  tube,  with  well 
strengthened  walls,  the  most  solid  parts  being  placed  out- 
side, is  the  best  form  in  which  to  give  firmness  and 
solidity  to  such  structures.  Hence  it  is  that  their  deli- 
cate walls  are  hardened  by  a  copious  deposition  of  silica, 
so  that  e.  g.  a  kind  of  rattan  has  solid  lumps  of  it  in 
joints  and  hollows,  and  will  readily  strike  fire  with  steel; 
and  the  so-called  Dutch  rush,  a  horsetail  moss,  is  largely 
imported  from  Holland  for  its  usefulness  in  polishing  fur- 
niture and  pewter  utensils.  The  grass  which  grows  on 
less  than  half  an  acre  of  land  is  said  to  contain  flint 
enough  to  produce,  when  mixed  with  sand,  and  by  the 
aid  of  the  blowpipe,  a  glass-bead  of  considerable  size ; 
and  after  a  number  of  hay-stacks,  set  up  by  the  river 
side,  had  once  been  struck  by  lightning  and  burned,  large 
lumps  of  glass  were  found  in  their  place.  Wondrous  in- 
deed are  the  works  of  the  Almighty,  and  well  can  we 
understand  the  deep  pathos  with  which  Galileo,  when 
questioned  as  to  his  belief  in  a  Supreme  Being,  pointed 
at  a  straw  on  the  floor  of  his  dungeon  and  said:  "From 
the  structure  of  that  little  tube  alone  would  I  infer  with 
certainty  the  existence  of  a  wise  Creator !" 

Other  stems,  like  our  bulbs,  whose  scales  are  the  real 
leaves  of  the  plants,  grow  under  ground,  where  they  alone, 


180  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

well  protected  from  cold  and  tempest,  live  through  the 
dreary  winter  season.  Or  they  are  hid  by  the  water  in 
which  they  live,  and  then  frequently  reach  an  almost  in- 
credible length.  Some  marine  algae  have  been  found 
more  than  fifteen  hundred  feet  long  ;  they  branch  off  as 
they  approach  the  surface,  until  they  form  a  floating  mass 
of  foliage,  hundreds  of  yards  square.  These  stems  re- 
semble cords  in  every  variety  of  form  and  twist,  and  are 
used  by  the  natives  of  the  north-west  coast,  where  they 
are  most  frequently  found,  as  fishing  lines — while  others 
of  the  same  kind  are  dried  to  serve  as  siphons,  or  are 
formed  by  the  natives  into  trumpets,  with  which  they 
collect  their  roving  cattle  at  nightfall.  The  most  remark- 
able stem,  however,  of  all  more  common  plants,  is  prob- 
ably that  of  the  valisneria,  an  aquatic  plant  which  grows 
at  the  bottom  of  rivers.  It  consists  of  long,  elastic  cords, 
twisted  like  a  corkscrew,  and  sends  some  branches  up  to 
the  surface,  while  others  remain  below  and  are  completely 
submerged.  When  the  flowering  season  approaches,  the 
plant  shows  an  instinct  so  closely  approaching  conscious 
action  as  to  startle  the  careful  observer.  Some  of  the 
flowers  are  produced  below,  where  they  cannot  exhibit  the 
beauty  of  their  frail  blossoms;  these  begin  to  stretch  and 
to  twist,  as  if  they  longed  for  the  bright  sunshine  above, 
and  at  last  they  succeed  in  breaking  loose  from  their  dark, 
gloomy  home.  In  an  instant,  they  rise  to  the  surface, 
being  lighter  than  water,  expand  there  under  the  benign 
influence  of  light  and  air,  and  mingle  their  dust  with  other 
flowers,  which  are  already  floating  there.  This  "high" 
life  continues  until  the  seeds  are  beginning  to  ripen,  when 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant.  181 


the  elastic  stems  contract  once  more,  and,  with  like  won- 
derful instinct,  carry  the  seed  vessels  down  and  bury  them 
in  the  watery  bed  of  the  stream,  where  alone  they  can 
hope  to  find  all  the  requisites  for  their  future  growth  and 
welfare. 

The  stems  or  trunks,  finally,  indicate  in  all  long-lived 
plants  the  age  with  unerring  accuracy.  Their  growth 
being  limited  only  by  external  causes,  the  years  of  trees 
are  seen  in  their  size,  and  this  union  of  age  with  the 
manifestation  of  constantly  renewed  vigor,  is  a  charm  pe- 
culiar to  the  life  of  plants.  Animals,  however  curious, 
beautiful  or  imposing,  have  still  a  limited  size  and  figure — 
plants  alone  grow  without  limit,  and  bring  forth  new  roots 
and  new  branches  as  long  as  they  live.  This  gives  to  very 
ancient  trees,  especially,  a  monumental  character,  and  has 
ever  inspired  nations  with  a  kind  of  instinctive  reverence, 
which  from  the  days  of  antiquity  to  our  own  has  often 
degenerated  into  open  worship.  Who  has  not  heard  of 
the  oaks  of  Mamre  and  the  pilgrimages  made  to  them 
fi^om  the  time  of  Abraham  to  that  of  Constantine — or  of 
the  far-famed  cedars  of  Lebanon,  which  have  always  been 
distinguished  as  objects  of  regard  and  veneration,  so  that 
no  threat  of  Sennacherib  was  more  dreaded  than  that  he 
would  level  them  to  the  ground?  Herodotus  dwells  with 
delighted  sympathy  on  the  marks  of  respect  with  which 
Xerxes  loaded  the  famous  plane-tree  of  Lydia,  while  he 
decked  it  with  gold  ornaments  and  intrusted  it  to  the  care 
of  one  of  his  ten  thousand  "  Immortals."  As  forest  trees 
increase  by  coatings  from  without,  the  growth  of  each 
year  forming  a  ring  round  the  centre  of  the  stem,  the 


182  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

number  of  years  is  usually  ascertained — since  the  well- 
known  author  Michael  Montaigne  first  started  this  theory 
— by  counting  the  concentric  rings.    Care  must,  however, 
be  had  not  to  forget,  that  some  trees  begin  to  form  these 
only  after  several  years'  growth,  and  that,  whilst  northern 
trees  shed  their  leaves  but  onco  a  year,  and  therefore  add 
but  one  ring  during  that  time,  those  of  the  tropics  change 
their  foliage  twice  or  thrice  a  year,  and  form  as  many 
rings.    This  renders  the  age  of  such  trees,  as  were  here- 
tofore considered  the  oldest,  somewhat  doubtful ;  still  there 
are  some  remarkable  cases  of  longevity  well  authenticated. 
Humboldt  measured  a  gigantic  dragon-tree  near  the  peak 
of  TenerifFe,  and  found  it  possessed  of  the  same  colossal 
size,  forty-eight  feet  round,  which  had  amazed  the  Prench 
adventurers,  who  discovered  that  beautiful  island  more  than 
three  centuries  ago — and  yet  it  still  flourished  in  perpetual 
youth,  bearing  blossoms  and  fruit  with  undiminished  vigor ! 
Some  yew  trees  of  England,  and  one  or  two  oaks,  claim 
an  age  of  from  one  thousand  four  hundred  to  three  thou- 
sand years,  and  would,  if  their  claims  were  substantiated, 
be  the  oldest  trees  in  Europe — but  a  famous  baobab,  on 
the  banks  of  the  Senegal,  is  believed  to  be  more  than 
six  thousand  years  old,  in  which  case  its  seed  might  have 
vegetated  before  the  foot  of  man  trod  the  earth!    Its  only 
rival  is  a  cypress  tree  in  the  garden  of  Chapultepec,  which 
Humboldt  considers  still  older ;  it  had  already  reached  a 
great  age  in  the  days  of  Montezuma.    A  curious  old  age 
is  that  of  a  rose-bush  which  grows  in  the  crypt  of  the 
cathedral  of  Hildesheim,  in  Germany ;  it  was  there  planted 
by  the  first  founder  of  the  church,  and  is  expressly  men- 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant. 


183 


tioned  in  the  MSS.  in  which  his  donation  and  the  building 
itself  are  described ;  it  also  flourishes  still,  and  bears  as 
fragrant  roses  in  these  years  of  change  and  revolution, 
as  eight  hundred  years  ago,  when  Germany  was  one  and 
great ! 

Most  plants  are  accustomed — we  hope  not  for  their  sins 
— to  cover  themselves,  like  our  first  parents,  with  leaves, 
and  it  is  well  established  now,  that  the  plant,  properly 
speaking,  consists  only  of  stem  and  leaves — all  other  parts, 
like  buds,  flowers  and  fruits,  being  only  modified  forms 
of  leaves.  These  are  mostly  green,  and  the  depth  of 
their  color  is  an  indication  of  the  healthfulness  of  their 
action.  But  there  are  a  hundred  shades,  and  the  color 
invariably  contrasts  most  beautifully  with  the  back-ground, 
on  which  the  plants  appear.  The  humble  moss  shines 
with  its  brilliant  emerald  green  on  the  dark  sides  of 
rocks,  whilst  mushrooms  display  their  gorgeous  scarlet  and 
orange  between  the  sombre  rugged  roots  of  the  trees, 
under  whose  shadow  they  love  to  dwell.  The  glossy  color 
of  the  ivy  looks  all  the  more  cheerful  by  the  gray  bark 
of  crumbling  ruins,  which  it  hides  v/ith  the  folds  of  its 
warm  mantle,  and  vies  with  the  carpet  of  verdure  that 
vines  spread  over  old  turrets  or  the  fallen  trunks  of  an- 
cient trees,  whilst  in  fall  they  reflect  permanently  the  gold 
and  purple  of  the  setting  sun.  But,  here  also,  beauty  is 
not  given  to  all  with  the  same  lavish  hand.  Whilst  the 
queenly  Victoria  floats  its  richly-tinted  leaves  in  gorgeous 
beauty  on  the  dark  mirror  of  calm,  shady  lakes,  the  poor 
lichens  of  the  north  shiver  in  their  scanty  coat :  gray  and 
withered  in  the  shade,  they  look,  when  lighted  up  for  a 


184  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

brief  noonday  time,  like  gigantic  snow-crystals,  and  cause 
a  chilly  shudder.  In  Australia,  where  all  extremes  meet, 
from  the  bird-fashioned  quadruped  to  the  millionaire  con- 
vict, the  leaves  of  trees  and  bushes  have  a  leathery  look 
and  are  oddly  twisted,  turning  their  edges  up  and  down, 
instead  of  standing  horizontally,  as  with  us.  They  afford 
no  shade,  and  are  covered  with  a  white,  resinous  powder, 
which  gives  them  a  most  dismal  and  pallid  appearance. 
Yet — whatever  form  leaves  may  assume — their  wonderful 
adaptation  to  their  great  duty  strikes  us  in  all  plants  alike. 
The  immense  extent  of  surface  which  they  present  to  light 
and  heat,  the  thinness  and  delicacy  of  their  structure,  the 
microscopic  beauty  of  their  minute  apertures,  their  power 
of  breathing  in  and  out — all  answer  admirably  the  great 
purpose  of  exposing  the  crude  sap,  that  rises  from  the 
root,  to  the  air  and  the  sun,  to  be  by  them  digested  into 
highly  nutritious  food. 

All  leaves  change  their  color  in  autumn,  when  a  pecu- 
liar chemical  change  goes  on  in  their  substance,  and  takes 
the  bright,  fresh  green,  from  them,  to  leave  them  in  sad- 
colored  livery,  or  to  clothe  them,  as  a  parting  gift,  in 
the  brilliant  drapery  of  an  Indian  summer.  It  is  then 
that,  especially  in  American  woods,  a  combination  of  hues 
is  produced,  which  no  painter  can  hope  to  imitate,  when 
the  maple  burns  itself  away,  and  "all  tj^e  leaves  sparkle 
in  dazzling  splendor  with  downy  gold  colors  dipped  in 
heaven."  Not  less  variety  may  be  perceived  in  the  shape 
of  leaves.  Needle-shaped  in  northern  evergreens,  they  are 
gathered,  like  tiny  brushes,  to  collect  at  every  point  what- 
ever  heat   and    moisture   may   surround   them.  Plants 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant, 


185 


growing  in  arid  places,  or  high  mountains,  have  leaves 
shaped  like  cups,  with  broad  channels  to  conduct  the  pre- 
cious water  of  dew  and  rain  to  their  roots.  In  trees 
bearing  cones  they  are  dry,  pointed  and  narrow ;  they 
seldom  rustle,  being  silent ;  but,  as  a  compensation,  they 
are  ever  green.  Their  high  polish  enables  them  to  reflect 
what  little  heat  they  can  gather  in  northern  lands,  whilst 
the  light  may  still  pass  between  them  with  ease.  On 
catkin-bearing  trees  they  are  broad  and  tender,  so  that 
the  gentlest  wind  gives  them  motion  and  sound,  a  charm 
wholly  wanting  in  evergreens ;  but  their  time  is  short,  and 
they  perish  after  a  season !  As  we  approach  the  equator, 
we  find  leaves  without  polish,  so  as  to  reflect  no  heat, 
j)laced  horizontally  to  form  a  shading  roof.  They  grow 
broader  and  larger,  with  every  degree,  until  the  cocoa-palm 
has  them  more  than  one  foot  square,  and  a  single  leaf 
of  the  tallipot-palm  of  Ceylon  can  cover  a  whole  family. 
Those  of  the  waxy  palm  of  South  America  are,  moreover, 
so  impermeable  to  moisture,  that  they  are  used  as  cover- 
ings for  houses,  and  have  been  known  to  stand  all  the 
vicissitudes  of  the  weather  for  more  than  twenty  years, 
without  being  renewed.  They  thus  form  a  screen  by  day, 
a  tent  by  night,  and  become  eminently  useful  in  a  land 
which  is  half  the  year  burnt  by  a  scorching  sun,  and  the 
other  half  completely  under  water.  In  like  manner  leaves 
change  according  to  the  wants  of  the  tree,  whose  ornament 
and  best  servants  they  are  at  the  same  time.  The  oak 
of  our  mountains  has  thick,  broad  leaves — that  of  the  sea- 
shore, which  we  call  willow  and  live  oak,  is  satisfied  with 
thin  narrow  leaves.    The  honeysuckle  changes  them  at  will 


1R6 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


into  tendrils,  the  pea  into  hands  \vith  three  or  five  fingers, 
with  which  to  grasp  its  support,  though  only  when  it  has 
reached  a  certain  height,  and  needs  the  latter ;  the  passion 
flower  converts  them  into  cork-screws,  whilst  the  common 
nasturtium  is  content  with  a  simple  hook  at  the  end  of 
the  leaf.  Their  arrangement  also  around  stem  and  branches 
is  not  left  to  accident:  a  distinguished  mathematician  of 
our  Cambridge  once  astonished  a  large  and  learned  au- 
dience not  a  little,  when  he  informed  them  that  plants 
knew  mathematics,  and  arranged  their  leaves  according  to 
fixed  rules.  A  spiral  line  drawn  from  the  base  of  one 
leaf,  around  the  stem,  to  that  of  another,  shows  regular 
intervals  between  them,  which  vary  in  difierent  plants,  but 
are  in  each  carefiilly  and  strictly  observed. 

The  great  purpose  of  life  in  leaves  is  to  carry  on  theii 
most  active  and  important  vital  function — their  respiration. 
They  are  the  lungs  of  plants,  not  condensed,  as  in  man, 
in  one  organ,  but  scattered  independently  in  countless  num- 
bers over  the  branches.  For  the  purpose  of  breathing 
they  are  endowed  with  innumerable  and  often  invisible 
little  openings,  commonly  on  both  sides — in  aquatic  plants, 
however,  whose  leaves  float  on  the  surface  of  the  water, 
only  on  the  upper  side.  In  the  cactus  tribe  these  are  al- 
most wholly  wanting,  hence  the  latter  are  so  succulent, 
^is  they  retain  all  the  fluid  that  their  roots  have  sucked 
up,  and  exhale  nothing.  Their  activity  is,  of  course,  a 
twofold  one,  as  they  both  take  in  and  give  out,  with- 
out ceasing.  They  inhale  atmospheric  air,  appropriate  its 
oarbon  for  the  formation  of  their  juices,  and  return  the 
separated  and  disengaged  oxygen  in  the  form  of  gas.  This 


Younger  Yeaiis  of  a  Plant. 


187 


process,  however,  can  only  go  on  during  daytime,  as  light 
is  indispensable — and  is  performed  by  all  the  green  parts 
of  a  plant  alike.  It  is  this  incessant  labor  which  makes 
plants  not  only  an  ornament  of  our  earth  and  a  food  for 
man  and  cattle,  but  renders  them  so  eminently  useful  in 
the  great  household  of  Nature.  They  absorb  the  carbon, 
that  man  cannot  breathe,  and  furnish,  in  return,  the  oxygen, 
without  which  he  cannot  exist ;  thus  virtually,  by  their 
industry,  rendering  the  atmosphere  fit  for  the  support  of 
animal  life.  Besides  the  exhalation  of  oxygen,  the  leaves 
also  evaporate  nearly  two-thirds  of  the  water  which  the 
roots  have  imbibed,  and  sent  up  to  them  through  the  in- 
terior of  the  plant.  The  moment  this  now  perfectly  pure 
water  is  exhaled,  it  is  dissolved  in  the  air,  and  becomes 
invisible  to  the  eye. 

Another  duty,  which  the  leaves  of  plants  perform  with 
still  greater  energy,  is  the  drawing  of  water  from  the 
atmosphere.  They  drink  it  in,  from  the  first  moment  of 
their  short  life,  to  the  last  day,  by  all  possible  means. and 
contrivances.  The  young  leaves,  as  yet  wholly  or  in  part 
rolled  up,  are  but  so  many  cups  or  spoons,  turned  to 
heaven  to  gather  all  the  moisture  they  can  hold.  As  the 
young  plants  grow,  they  unfold  leaf  after  leaf,  and  all 
perform  the  same  duty  with  the  same  eagerness.  From 
the  cedar  of  Lebanon  down  to  the  bashful  violet,  each 
plant  holds  forth  its  gigantic  mass  of  foliage  or  its  tiny 
goblet,  to  have  its  share  of  the  precious  moisture.  A 
glance  shows  us  that  leaves  have  generally  a  little  canal 
passing  from  the  end  up  to  their  base,  in  which  the  water 
they  have  gathered  runs  down ;  and  it  has  been  observed 


188 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


that  the  drier  and  sandier  the  soil  is  on  which  plants  grow, 
the  more  deeply  furrowed  are  their  leaves.  In  large  trees, 
therefore,  a  constant  stream  of  water  flows  from  the  end 
of  the  leaf  to  its  stem,  and  from  branch  to  branch  until 
it  reaches  the  trunk,  and  then  in  the  deep  furrows  and 
crevices  of  the  bark  down  to  the  roots,  so  that  not  a 
drop  of  the  precious  nutriment  is  lost.  Water-plants,  on 
the  contrary,  needing  no  such  ingenious  contrivances,  as 
they  have  an  abundance  of  the  element  all  around  them, 
display  smooth  leaves,  often  so  highly  varnished  that  the 
water  runs  off  or  stands  in  silvery  pearls  on  the  dark 
green  surface. 

All  plants  are  greedy  consumers  of  water,  and  know 
how  to  obtain  it^  by  some  peculiar,  as  yet  unknown  pro- 
cess, even  in  such  regions  of  the  tropics,  where  for  half 
the  year  no  cloud  darkens  the  ever-serene  sky,  and  where 
not  even  dew  is  given  to  refresh  the  panting  vegetation. 
Their  power,  in  this  respect,  is  as  great  as  it  is  mys- 
terious. The  most  succulent  plants  of  the  tropics  cling 
to  the  faces  of  barren  cliffs,  or  rise  from  dry,  dust-like 
sand.  It  is  true,  their  leaves  contain  both  caoutchouc  and 
wax,  and  are  covered  with  a  thin  layer  of  these  substances, 
as  with  a  water-proof  cloak,  to  prevent  evaporation  under 
a  burning  sun.  Some  plants,  however,  support  themselves 
not  only,  but  actually  increase  in  weight  w^hen  suspended 
in  the  air,  and  unconnected  with  any  soil,  as  the  common 
houseleak  and  the  aloe.  The  so-called  air-plant,  perhaps 
the  most  remarkable  of  the  whole  vegetable  kingdom,  is 
but  a  single  leaf,  without  stem  or  root,  and  yet  it  is  able 
to  maintain  life,  to  grow  and  to  blossom,  if  only  hung 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant. 


189 


up  in  a  warm  and  damp  atmosphere,  though  it  be  not 
even  in  contact  with  any  other  substance.  It  puts  out 
buds,  these  become  leaves,  drop  tiny  roots  into  the  air, 
and  soon  exist  as  independent  plants. 

And  here  again  we  cannot  help  observing,  how  quietly 
the  work  of  Nature  is  going  on,  unsuspected  and  un- 
heeded by  others.  The  innumerable  leaves  of  our  forest 
and  arbor  trees  form  a  vast  summer  laboratory,  in  which 
the  great  work  of  plants  is  incessantly  continued,  and  which 
contributes,  to  an  incalculable  extent,  to  the  support  and 
the  health  of  all  animal  existence.  They  afford  us  thus 
another  of  the  countless  proofs  of  creative  design,  which 
we  may,  at  a  glance,  obtain  from  the  vegetable  world. 
They  labor  and  work  for  themselves  apparently  all  the 
while,  but  render  the  earth  and  all  life  thereon  invaluable 
service.  Even  when  they  greedily  draw  up  all  moisture 
by  roots  or  leaves,  they  become  our  benefactors.  The 
despised  mosses  hold  up  their  little  cups  to  collect  the 
waters  of  heaven,  and  make  most  ample  return  for  its 
bounty.  They  clothe  the  steep  sides  of  lofty  hills  and 
mountain  ranges,  and  their  densely-crowded  delicate  leaflets 
attract  and  condense  the  watery  vapors  constantly  floating 
in  the  air,  and  thus  become  the  living  fountains  of  many 
a  proud  stream.  The  tall  trees  of  the  forest  draw  down 
the  rain-filled  cloud,  as  the  lightning-rod  invites  the  thunder 
storm,  and  the  moisture  so  distilled  is  condensed  into  little 
streamlets  which  trickle  down  from  twig  and  bough,  even 
when  the  ground  is  dry  and  dusty.  This  gives  fertility 
even  to  adjoining  fields.  The  heavy,  damp  air,  gathered 
by  the  woods,  sinks  down  as  fog  or  mist  when  the  still 


190  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

cool  evening  conries,  and  rich  dew  pearls  in  the  morning 
on  the  meadows,  and  refi^eshes  the  fields.  Trees  thus  affect 
materially  the  climate  and  general  character  of  countries. 
Tliickly-wooded  regions,  like  our  own  continent,  are  colder 
and  more  humid  than  cultivated  or  broad  treeless  savan- 
nahs ;  they  abound  in  rain  and  fertile  dew ;  and  to  cut 
down  our  trees  is  seriously  to  impair  the  supply  furnished 
by  them  to  springs  and  rivers.  Some  lands  would  not 
be  habitable  but  for  trees.  In  one  of  the  Canaries  neither 
springs  nor  rivers  are  found ;  but  there  grows  a  large, 
tall  tree,  called  with  veneration  the  Sai?it,  in  some  of  the 
deep  recesses  of  the  mountains.  It  keeps  its  lofty  head 
all  night  long  wrapped  up  in  mist  and  clouds,  from  which 
it  dispenses  its  timely,  never-ceasing  moisture  in  little 
rivulets,  running  merrily  down  from  the  leaves.  Small 
reservoirs  are  built  for  the  purpose  of  catching  the  pre- 
cious gift,  and  thus  alone  the  island  is  made  a  fit  dwelling- 
place  for  man. 

Humbler  plants  store  up  water  in  smaller  quantities, 
but  not  the  less  pure  or  welcome.  The  melon  cactuses 
have  been  called  the  vegetable  fountains  of  the  desert, 
because  they  conceal  under  their  hideous  prickly  envelope, 
covered  with  dry  lichens,  an  ample  supply  of  watery  pith. 
The  great  Humboldt  tells  us  graphically,  how,  in  the  dry 
season,  when  all  life  has  fled  from  the  pampas,  and  even 
snakes  lie  buried  in  the  dried-up  mud,  the  wild  mule,  per- 
ishing with  thirst,  gallops  up  to  the  ill-shapen  plants,  strikes 
with  its  hoofs  at  the  powerful  prickles,  until  it  has  made 
an  opening,  and  then  warily  approaches,  with  long  pro- 
truding lips,  to  drink  the  well-defended,  cool  and  refresh- 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant. 


191 


ing  juice.  Brazil,  also,  has  a  plant — the  ramy  one,  it  is 
called — that  is  remarkable  for  a  constant  flow  of  water 
from  the  points  of  its  leaves,  which  falls  upon  the  parched 
ground  like  a  gentle  shower  of  rain-drops.  Quite  a  number 
of  plants,  it  is  well  known,  have  regular  pitchers,  in 
which  they  accumulate  moisture — some  from  within,  and 
others  by  holding  them  open  in  rain  or  damp  weather 
and  closing  a  curiously-fashioned  lid,  when  they  are  filled. 
Such  are  the  side-saddle  flower  of  our  own  country,  with 
leaves  like  pitchers,  covered  with  a  top,  and  half  full  of 
water ;  the  monkey-cup  of  South  America,  to  which  it 
was  once  believed  the  monkeys  resorted  to  quench  their 
thirst,  and  the  distilling  nepenthes,  which  hold  up  their 
capacious  and  elegantly-formed  pitchers,  full  of  cool,  color- 
less water,  in  the  burning  sands  of  the  desert.  A  few 
trees  change  the  nature  of  the  fluid,  and  one,  the  cow-tree, 
is  even  good  enough  to  satisfy  hunger  as  well  as  thirst. 
It  yields  a  rich,  bland  and  oily  juice,  closely  resembling 
milk,  and  that  in  sufficient  abundance  to  refresh  and  to 
satisfy  the  hunger  of  several  persons.  But  if  the  leaves 
of  plants  are  so  industriously  and  incessantly  at  work,  it 
must  not  be  forgotten,  that  some  go  regularly  to  rest, 
and  sleep  so  profoundly  that  in  a  clover-field  not  a  leaf 
opens  until  after  sunrise,  and  others  in  South  America  are 
universally  known  as  the  sleepers.''^  Most  mimosas  fold 
up  their  delicate,  feathery  leaves,  as  night  approaches,  and 
when  the  sun  rises  once  more,  the  little  sleepy  ones  un- 
fold again,  slowly,  and,  as  it  were,  reluctant,  like  some 
of  us,  to  begin  their  work  anew.  It  has  even  been  ob- 
served, that  these  so-called  sensitive  plants,  when  wounded 


192  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

or  otherwise  suffering,  cannot  sleep,  but  keep  their  leaves 
open  and  erect  all  night  long,  until  they  perish.  Other 
plants  close  their  leaves  during  the  day,  and  awake  from 
their  slumbers  at  night,  while  a  few  even  droop  and  clasp 
the  stem,  as  if  seeking  support  in  its  strength,  whenever 
the  sky  is  overcast  and  a  storm  is  threatening. 

This  peculiar  faculty  of  sleep  stands  in  immediate  con- 
nection with  the  general  power  of  certain  leaves  to  move, 
either  upon  coming  in  contact  with  other  bodies,  or,  ap- 
parently, in  spontaneous  motion.  All  the  above-mentioned 
mimosas  fold  up  their  leaves,  when  merely  touched ;  first 
one  little  leaflet  will  be  closed,  then  another,  until  the 
whole  leaf  proper,  with  its  delicate  footstalk,  droops  dowii 
and  clasps  the  stem  of  the  parent.  If  the  plant  be  very 
irritable — and  nervousness  is  here  found  to  be  in  propor- 
tion to  good  health — the  other  leaves  wdll  follow  the  ex- 
ample, until  the  whole  little  plant  plays,  to  use  a  Virginia 
phrase,  "'possum,"  and  looks,  for  all  the  world,  as  if  it 
A^ere  asleep.  The  oxalis  of  this  continent  requires  several 
successive  strokes  to  produce  the  same  effect,  and  the 
robinia,  our  locust,  which  sleeps  at  night,  must  be  violently 
shaken.  The  common  wild  lettuce,  also,  shows  a  great 
irritability,  and,  curiously  enough,  only  when  the  plant  is 
in  flower.  Upon  being  touched,  the  leaves  contract  be- 
neath, and  force  out,  above,  a  milky  juice,  with  which  they 
soon  become  covered. 

The  so-called  spontaneous  movements  of  leaves  and 
other  parts  of  plants  arise  mostly,  though  not  always, 
from  their  general  tendency  to  turn  towards  the  light. 
Little  is  as  yet  known  with  accuracy  of  this  interesting 


Younger  Years  of  a  Plant.  193 

feature  in  the  life  of  plants.  A  great  number  of  leaves, 
however,  alter  their  position  by  night  and  by  clay.  Some 
make  a  half,  some  a  quarter  revolution,  and  then  turn 
their  points  downward.  Otkers,  again,  fold  up,  in  regular 
order,  the  youngest  leaf  first,  as  if  it  required  most  resty 
whilst  the  oldest  are  apt  to  do  entirely  without  it.  In 
other  plants  it  is  the  state  of  the  atmosphere  which  deter- 
mines such  movements — the  beards  of  the  geranium  and 
the  wild  oat  curl  up  in  dry  weather,  and  straighten  again 
in  damp  days — other  plants  do  the  contrary.  The  hygro- 
metrica  of  South  America  closes  the  leaflets  of  its  finely 
pinnated  foliage  long  before  the  clouds  rise,  and  thus  fore- 
tells the  impending  change  of  the  weather,  and  the  plant, 
known  among  us  as  the  fly-trap,  is  called  in  its  home  on 
the  warm  plains  on  the  banks  of  the  Senegal,  the  good- 
morning  flower,  because  at  that  season  of  the  day  it  grace- 
fully bends  over  and  bows  to  the  passer-by.  On  the 
banks  of  the  Ganges,  however,  exists  a  vegetable  form,  so 
quick  of  life  as  to  resemble  some  of  the  minor  animals 
in  its  motion.  The  leaflets  of  this  singular  plant  are  in 
perpetual  motion :  one  leaflet  will  rise  by  a  succession  of 
little  starts  and  then  fall  in  like  manner;  while  one  rises, 
another  droops,  and  thus  the  motion  continues  and  extends 
over  the  whole  foliage.  Nor  does  it  cease  at  night ;  in 
fact  it  is  said  to  be  more  vigorous  even  in  the  shade,  and 
in  the  still,  hot  hours  of  an  Indian  summer-night  the  plant 
is  full  of  life  and  incessant  motion.  Not  less  singular  is 
the  action — for  it  is  more  than  motion — of  plants,  like 
Venus's  fly-trap,  and  others.  The  flowers  are  covered  with 
sweet  honey,  and  thus  allure  many  an  unfortunate  insect, 
9 


194  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

which  has  no  sooner  touched  the  sweet  store,  than  the 
plant  moves  cither  the  long  stiff  hairs,  which  grow  along 
the  middle  nerve,  or  closes  its  crown  of  gorgeously  colored 
leaves  above,  and  thus  seizes  upon  the  unlucky  robber. 
4Ve  can  speak  no  longer  of  sweet  innocent  flowers — for 
so  fond  are  these  blood-thirsty  plants  of  their  favorite 
delicacies,  that  they  will  not  thrive  in  green-houses  from 
which  insects  are  excluded,  and  gardeners  have  been  com- 
pelled to  supply  them,  strange  as  it  may  sound,  literally 
with  animal  food,  to  see  them  thrive  and  blossom  as  in 
their  native  home! 


Lateu  Years  of  a  Plant. 


195 


VI. 

f  ato  |mo  of  a  f  kit. 

"  Soft  whilst  we  sleep  beneath  tho  rural  bow'rs, 
The  loves  and  graces  steal  unseen  away; 
And  where  the  turf  diffused  its  pomp  of  flow'rs 
"Wo  wako  to  wintry  scenes  of  chOl  decay."— Shenstone. 

fpHE  true,  full  life  of  plants  may  be  said  to  begin  and 
to  end  with  their  period  of  blooming.  Whilst  trees 
do  not  blossom  until  many  years  have  passed  over  their 
lofty  heads — the  fir-tree  and  the  beech,  for  instance,  seldom 
before  the  fiftieth  year — the  humbler  plants  look  upon  the 
time  when  they  are  crowned  with  flowers  as  the  happiest 
— and  last,  of  their  existence.  It  comes,  with  some,  after 
a  short  year,  whilst  the  Agave  Americana  lives  many, 
though  not  quite  a  hundred  years,  without  ever  flowering. 
Then  it  produces,  with  amazing  rapidity,  an  innumerable 
host  of  flowers,  growing  almost  visibly,  until  it  has  un- 
folded its  magnificent  candelabrum  of  nearly  fifty  feet 
high,  and  then  it  perishes.  So  also  the  beautiful  talipot 
palm  :  it  grows  and  flourishes,  and  forms  a  vast  crown 
of  broad  leaves  at  a  great  height ;  then  only  it  flowers 


196  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

for  the  first  time,  produces  its  seed  and  dies;  so  true  is 
it,  that 

"Ho  bids  each  flower  his  quickening  word  obey, 
Or  to  each  lingering  bloom  enjoins  delay." 

Plants,  however,  have  not  only  their  age  of  blooming, 
but  also  their  season.  Whilst  most  of  them  open  their 
bright  chalices  in  spring  or  midsummer,  when  "  the  sun 
smiles  on  the  earth,  and  the  exuberant  earth  returns  the 
smile  in  flowers,"  others  do  not  bloom  until  fall  or  even 
winter.  The  autumnal  crocus,  which  gives  us  saffron, 
blooms  not  until  almost  all  the  other  flowers  are  gone. 
The  black  hellebore  sends  its  pale  green  flowers  as  a 
Christmas  present,  and  the  fragrant  blackthorn  blossoms, 
while  the  cold  north-east  winds  blow,  in  spite  of  cold 
and  frost.  The  vernal  crocus  sends  up  its  golden  cups 
in  early  March,  however  cold  it  may  be  in  the  reign  of 
what  Coleridge  calls  "the  dark,  frieze-coated,  hoarse,  teeth- 
chattering  month,"  and  the  silvery  almond  flower  blooms 
on  a  leafless  bough.  Nay,  the  very  hour  of  blooming  is 
appointed  to  plants  with  mysterious  accuracy.  A  few  years 
ago  I  went  to  see,  near  Upsala,  the  cottage  of  old  Linne, 
the  father  of  modern  botany,  and  among  all  the  precious 
relics  carefully  preserved,  near  his  home,  there  was  no 
token  of  the  pious  reverence  with  which  his  countrymen 
honor  his  name,  more  touching  than  his  floral  clock.  In 
a  half  circle,  carefully  arranged  around  his  writing  table, 
stood  a  number  of  plants  which  opened  their  flowers  each 
at  a  certain  moment,  so  that  they  revealed  at  a  glance 
to  the  great  master,  the  hour  of  the  day,  with  unerring 
precision.    For,  as  every  bird  has  his  hour  when  he  awakes 


Later  Years  of  a  Plant. 


197 


and  sends  up  his  hymn  to  praise  his  Maker,  so  every 
flower  also  has  its  time.  They  open  commonly  to  the 
light,  some  in  the  morning,  to  close  again  at  night,  whilst 
others  will  not  open  at  all,  except  in  clear  bright  weather. 
The  degree  of  light  which  they  require,  determines  mostly 
the  hour  of  the  day  at  which  they  will  unfold  their  beauty. 
Thus  the  daisy,  like  a  true  day's  eye,  opens  its  white  and 
crimson-tipped  star  to  meet  the  early  beams  of  the  rising 
sun ;  and  the  morning-glory  closes  its  sweet-scented  flowers 
before  the  sun  has  risen  high;  the  dandelion  opens  at 
half-past  five,  and  closes  at  nine ;  the  scarlet  pimpernel 
waits  patiently  until  mid-day,  and  dreads  rain  so  anxiously 
that  it  folds  quickly  up,  even  before  the  impending  shower, 
and  remains  closed  during  the  passage  of  a  cloud.  Hence 
its  name  of  the  "poor  man's  weather-glass."  Others  love 
late  hours :  the  evening  primrose  opens  its  golden  eyes 
in  the  sweet  hour  of  eve,  and  retires  before  the  returning 
glare  of  day.  The  brilliant  white  lotus,  opening  when  the 
sun  rises,  and  closing  when  he  sets,  still  loves  shade  so 
well,  that,  when  it  has  no  shelter  to  screen  itself,  it  folds 
up  its  pure  leaves  as  soon  as  the  sun  reaches  the  zenith, 
as  though  unable  to  endure  the  too  ardent  rays  of  the 
luminary  that  called  it  into  life.  There  are,  on  the  other 
hand,  also  bats  and  owls  found  among  plants,  wide  awake 
all  night  long.  The  convolvulus  of  the  tropics  blooms 
only  at  night,  and  so  does  that  magnificent  cactus,  the 
large  flowered  torch-thistle.  Late  in  the  silent  night,  when 
all  other  flowers  are  sleeping,  this  strange  plant,  with  its 
dry,  bare  stem,  unfolds  its  gorgeous,  vanilla-scented  flowers. 
There  are  few  others  known  of  greater  beauty ;  they  some- 


19B  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

times  measure  a  foot  in  diameter,  and  when  several  of 
these  magnificent  creatures  are  open  at  once,  upon  the 
same  plant,  they  seem  like  stars  shining  out  in  all  their 
lustre,  and  verifying  the  poet's  assertion,  that 

"Darkness  shows  us  a  world  of  light 
"Wo  never  see  by  day." 

But  it  is  a  short  glory  indeed :  at  midnight  they  are 
fully  blown,  as  soon  as  the  morning  dawns  upon  them, 
they  fold  up  their  charms,  and  a  few  hours  later  they 
are  decayed,  leaving  not  a  trace  of  their  gorgeous  beauty 
behind  them. 

Not  all  plants,  it  is  well  known,  have  flowers  "to  gaze 
on  us  with  gentle,  child-like  eyes ;"  the  ferns  and  allied 
plants  bearing  seed  without  apparently  blooming  first. 
Where  they  occur,  however,  they  are  only  a  collection  of 
several  circles  of  more  or  less  transformed  and  bright- 
colored  leaves,  which  mostly  alternate  with  each  other.  In 
the  centre  of  these  circles  stand  the  reproductive  organs, 
and  a  minute  dust  is  generally  found  on  the  petals,  appa- 
rently resting  so  lightly  on  them,  that  a  breath  of  air 
might  blow  it  away.  The  variety  of  their  color  is  surpassed 
only  by  that  of  their  shape.  The  purest  colors  occur  in 
Alpine  plants,  where  living  flowers  skirt  the  eternal  frost; 
it  is  among  these  that  we  must  look  for  the  loveliest  sky- 
blue,  the  purest  snow-white,  and  the  most  beautiful  rose- 
color,  until  we  reach  the  very  glory  of  luxuriant  rhodo- 
dendrons forming  a  bright  purple  girdle  around  snow- 
covered  peaks.  By  their  side  the  flowers  of  the  plain 
look  impure  and  stained.     But  they  have  no  odor,  fra- 


Later  Years  of  a  Plant. 


199 


grance  being  given  to  the  children  of  the  low  lands  only. 
So  with  man — it  is  not  proud  beauty  that  is  most  lovely ; 
there  is  a  far  more  potent  charm  in  the  sweet  perfume 
that  surrounds  the  meek  and  the  gentle.  Trees  arc  dif 
ferent,  for  here  Nature  seems  to  have  wished  to  com.pen- 
sate  the  north  for  the  absence  of  gay  colors,  by  giving 
sweet  odors  to  whole  classes  of  plants.  Thus  the  numble 
reed  is  there  aromatic  enough,  to  form  with  sugar  a  flivorite 
luxury ;  as  dew  falls  there  spreads  abroad  the  fruit-like 
perfume  of  the  golden  furze ;  the  birch-tree  exhales  in 
early  spring  a  sweet  rose  fragrance,  and  the  pine  is  aro- 
matic from  the  root  to  its  graceful  cone.  Some  flowers 
have  unpleasant  odors.  The  largest  on  earth,  which  takes 
its  name  from  its  discoverer.  Raffles,  and  which  is  more 
than  three  feet  in  diameter,  has  an  animal  smell,  closely 
resembling  that  of  beef,  and  the  so-called  friar's-cowl 
smells  so  strongly  of  spoiled  meat,  that  it  deceives  the 
blue-bottle  fly,  and  tempts  it  to  deposit  its  eggs  there, 
as  if  it  were  carrion.  Poisonous  plants  have,  generally, 
a  sickening  and  noxious  smell,  like  our  aconftes,  the  ailan- 
thus,  and  Kentucky  locust,  which  exhale  a  subtle  poison, 
and  are  fatal  to  many  insects.  In  all  instances,  however, 
fragrance  is  given  to  plants  for  some  special  and  bene- 
ficent purpose,  mostly  to  attract  animals,  and  to  tell  them 
where  a  table  is  spread  for  them.  It  is  well  known  that 
all  animals  smell  what  they  want  to  eat,  often  at  a  pro- 
digious distance,  and  as  Nature  calls  by  their  smell  the 
vulture  and  the  buzzard  to  perform  that  duty,  which  is 
their  highest  enjoyment,  so  all  theory  of  botany  lies,  with 
animals,  in  their  exquisitely  developed  smell.    Nor  ought 


200  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

we  to  omit  mentioning  here,  in  humble  gratitude,  that 
Columbus,  when  his  crew  mutinied,  and  his  brave  heart 
nearly  failed  him,  felt  his  hopes  revived  and  his  courage 
restored  by  the  sweet  odor  of  sassafras,  which  the  land- 
breeze  brought  upon  its  wings  from  the  distant  shores  of 
the  New  World. 

The  oddest  shapes  of  flowers  are  probably  found  among 
the  orchidacese  of  this  continent,  whose  flowers,  rich  in 
every  shade  and  variety  of  color,  portray  in  their  extra- 
ordinary formation  almost  the  entire  scope  of  animated 
nature,  beasts,  birds,  and  fishes.  Some  represent  a  helmet 
with  its  visor  up ;  others  look  like  ants  and  larger  insects. 
The  bee  and  the  fly,  the  spider  and  the  lizard,  are  each 
accurately  copied  in  certain  varieties ;  one  looks  for  all 
the  life  like  a  dove,  and  is  irreverently  called  the  Holy 
Ghost ;  and  another  resembles  a  large  and  beautiful  but- 
terfly so  closely  as  to  deceive  even  the  instinct  of  birds. 

It  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most  curious,  and,  as  yet,  most 
mysterious  features  in  the  life  of  plants,  that  the  appear- 
ance of  flowers  is  in  some  instances  accompanied  by  very 
remarkable  phenomena.  In  many  of  our  creepers,  in  the 
lilies  and  the  common  gourd,  a  kind  of  fever-heat  is  per- 
ceptible at  the  time  of  inflorescence.  Sometimes,  it  ap- 
pears in  paroxysms,  then  again  it  rises  and  falls  regularly, 
and  so  distinctly,  that  in  one  plant,  which  has  perhaps 
only  been  subjected  to  more  careful  observations  than 
others,  the  heat  has  been  noticed  to  increase  daily  from 
60  to  110,  or  even  120  degrees,  and  then  again  to  fall  to 
the  temperature  of  the  atmosphere.  Some  have  thought 
that  this  very  striking  peculiarity  of  certain  flowers  might 


Lateu  Years  of  a  Plant. 


201 


be  connected  with  the  power  of  others  to  emit  light.  The 
gentle  daughter  of  Linne,  when  walking  on  a  dry,  sultry 
summer  evening  through  her  father's  green-house,  first  ob- 
served flashes  of  phosphorescent  light  on  a  few  plants. 
Since  then  others  also  have  been  found  to  be  so  endowed, 
and  the  common  nasturtium  of  our  gardens,  if  plucked 
at  the  time  of  a  bright  sunshine,  and  at  once  carried  into 
a  dark  room,  will  become  visible  to  the  eye,  after  a  while, 
by  a  gentle  light  emitted  from  its  leaves.  In  fact,  most 
of  our  yellow  or  orange-colored  flowers,  our  marigold  and 
monkshood,  will  in  serene  summer  evenings  give  out  light, 
either  in  the  form  of  sparks,  or  in  a  steadier,  but  more 
feeble  glow.  In  a  few  plants  this  peculiar  gift  is  not 
limited  to  the  flowers  only,  but  common  to  all  leaves. 
Thus  many  lichens,  creeping  along  the  roof  of  caverns, 
lend  an  air  of  enchantment  to  them,  by  the  soft  and  clear 
light  they  diffuse,  while  another  plant,  abounding  in  the 
jungles  of  the  Madura  district  in  the  East  Indies,  gives 
such  an  extraordinary  vivid  light,  that  it  illuminates  the 
ground  around  it  for  some  distance. 

Equally  striking  and  peculiar  is  the  clear,  loud  sound 
with  which  the  golden  or  dazzling  white  flowers  of  cer- 
tain palm-trees  open — a  sound  already  noticed  in  times 
of  antiquity,  as  we  learn  from  Pindar,  who  speaks  of  the 
season,  when  "  the  first  opening  shoot  of  the  date-palm 
proclaims  the  arrival  of  balmy  spring."  This,  however, 
seems  to  be  the  only  exception  to  the  general  stillness, 
with  which  Nature  proceeds  in  her  work,  ever  showing 
how  calm  and  unpretending  the  growth  of  every  thing 
beautiful  is  in  God's  visible  world.  It  is  a  frequent  re- 
0* 


202  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

mark  that  "we  never  hear  a  rose  openmg  or  a  tulip 
shoothig  forth  its  gorgeous  colors,"  and  yet  of  the  same 
quiet  flowers  it  was  said  :  Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field : 
I  say  unto  you,  that  Solomon,  in  c^ll  his  glory,  was  not 
arrayed  like  one  of  these! 

When  the  beauty  of  flowers  is  gone,  their  leaves  drop 
quietly,  silently  to  the  ground ;  but  a  part  of  the  flower 
always  remains  attached  to  the  stem,  and  this  contains 
the  fruit  or  the  seeds  of  the  plant  by  which  it  continues 
its  existence  and  reproduces  itself.  It  is  in  the  process 
of  preparing  these  parts  that  plants  show  most  distinctly 
how  well  they  know  what  time  of  the  year  it  is.  In 
autumn  they  feel  that  winter  is  coming,  and  prepare  for 
it,  by  completing  all  the  necessary  processes  with  far 
greater  activity  than  they  have  shown  at  any  other  period 
of  their  life.  It  is,  of  course,  not  an  innate  conscious- 
ness of  the  season  that  impels  them  to  do  so,  but  an 
extremely  delicate  and  now  much  heightened  perception 
of  outward  influences,  inappreciable  to  our  less  refined 
senses.  The  production  of  seeds  is  the  great  end  of  the 
life  of  the  majority  of  plants,  though  not  of  trees  and 
all  those  who  live  for  many  years.  But  the  humbler 
plants  see  in  it  the  great  purpose  of  their  existence :  for 
tliis  they  have  grown  and  worked  and  lived,  for  this  they 
have  unfolded  the  whole  rich  apparatus  of  flowers,  and 
now  their  best  cares  are  bestowed  upon  the  ripening  fruit. 
No  precaution  is  neglected  to  preserve  it ;  the  little  cap- 
sules which  hold  the  precious  seed  of  future  generations, 
are  surrounded  with  thorns,  or  covered  with  down,  cased 
in  leather,  Iniried  in  large  masses  of  j^ucculeut  fle-sh,  <>v 


Later  Years  of  a  Plant.  riO'S 

carefully  packed  away  in  hard,  air-tight  shells.  A  mother 
could  not  have  better  care  for  the  cradle  of  her  beloved 
one.  Then,  when  the  seed  is  ripe,  and  has  to  be  turned 
out  into  the  wide  world  to  seek  a  resting-place  and  a 
home,  it  is  furnished  with  a  crest  of  feathers,  or  intrusted 
to  a  tiny  embarkation.  Nature  gives  it  wings  to  fly  with 
or  a  boat  to  swim  in.  And  so  admirably  is  the  minute 
grain  protected,  that  the  smallest  have  often  survived  for 
centuries.  Raspberry-seeds,  it  is  well  known,  have  been 
found  in  a  barrow,  thirty  feet  deep,  alongside  with  coins 
of  the  Emperor  Hadrian,  and  yet,  when  sown,  they  have 
borne  fruit.  The  pyramids  of  the  Pharaohs  are  crumbling 
into  dust,  but  the  grains  of  wheat,  found  in  their  interior 
and  once  more  intrusted  to  the  tender  care  of  their 
mother  earth,  have  joy-ously  sprouted  and  made  an  am- 
ple return. 

The  fruit  undergoes,  of  all  parts  of  the  plant,  perhaps 
the  largest  number  of  remarkable  changes,  even  after  it 
has  already  reached  its  full  size  and  complete  shape.  Acid 
whilst  growing,  it  becomes  sweet  as  it  ripens,  and  is 
sugary  when  perfectly  mature.  Fermentation  makes  it 
vinous,  and,  dried  up,  it  turns  sour  or  bitter.  Fruits  vary 
in  taste,  apparently  to  suit,  by  the  kindness  of  an  All- 
wise  Providence,  the  changing  wants  of  man.  During  the 
oppressive  heat  of  summer,  nature  ripens  for  him  juicy 
and  refreshing  cherries,  peaches  and  melons ;  the  more 
sugary  figs  and  mulberries  disappear  as  fast  as  the  bright 
days  that  produced  them.  When  the  warm  sun  is  leaving 
us,  and  cold  chills  begin  to  threaten,  more  vinous  fruits 
ripen,  like  pears  and  apples,  with  their  warm,  nutritious 


204 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


juice.  At  last,  when  autumn  already  veils  the  sun  in  cold 
mists,  and  cuts  off  its  warmth  from  us  by  dark  clouds, 
the  grape  gives  us,  in  its  fermented  juice,  the  most  pow- 
erful cordial.  Winter  brings  oily  and  farinaceous  nuts, 
almonds  and  olives,  which  keep  long  and  warm  well. 
Still  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  those  fruits  which  are, 
so  to  speak,  necessaries  of  life,  the  wheat  of  the  north, 
and  the*  date,  cocoanut  and  bread-fruit  of  the  south,  are 
constantly  found  in  all  stages  of  development,  and  last 
longer  than  a  short  season. 

But  fruits  do  more ;  they  actually  tell  us  when  they 
are  ripe  and  wish  to  be  gathered.  They  mostly  change 
their  color  for  this  purpose :  as  long  as  they  are  unripe, 
they  are  green  like  the  leaves,  among  which  they  are 
concealed,  or  reddish  like  the  bark  to  which  they  closely 
adhere,  as  is  the  case  with  plums.  When  they  approach 
maturity,  they  assume  brighter  colors,  so  that  the  very 
change  announces  them  to  be  ripe,  and  their  rich  red, 
blue,  yellow,  or  black,  invites  those  for  whose  use  they 
were  intended.  Others  appeal  to  us  by  their  smell — and 
some  even  to  our  ear.  The  chestnut-burr  snaps  in  the 
keen  air,  when  the  silent  groves  are  already  clad  in  au- 
tumn's garb ;  acorns  and  beechnuts  are  heard  to  fall  in 
the  clear  atmosphere,  and  the  ripe  cocoanut  strikes  the 
ground  with  such  force  that  the  sound  is  heard  for  many 
miles.  Other  fruits  of  palms,  which,  until  ripe,  w^ere  hid 
under  the  protecting  screen  of  broad  leaves,  burst  with  a 
noise  like  a  pistol  shot,  a  signal  at  w^iich  more  than  one 
guest  is  seen  to  hurry  up  to  the  rich  treat.  Among  the 
latter  none  aic  perhaps  more  curious  than  the  land-crabs 


Later  Years  of  a  Plant. 


205 


of  the  West  Indies.  They  are  exceedingly  fond  of  these 
nuts,  and  yet  it  is  vain  for  thera  to  look  up  to  a  height 
which  even  man  can  but  rarely  reach ;  so  the  tree  itself 
rings  the  dinner-bell  when  all  is  ready,  and  as  night  falls 
the  hungry  gourmands  are  seen  to  rush  in  armies  to  the 
feast  to  which  they  have  been  so  quaintly  invited. 

After  the  fruit  has  ripened  and  the  seed  has  been  sent 
adrift,  comes  mostly  the  "  last  scene  of  all,  that  ends  this 
strange,  eventful  history."  For  plants  also  die,  and  when 
they  have  bloomed  and  given  seed,  they  droop  and  hide 
themselves  in  the  ground,  to  rise  once  more  and  ever  again 
with  the  coming  spring.  "  The  grass  withereth  and  the 
flower  fadeth,"  now  under  a  burning  sun,  and  now  for  want 
of  moisture ;  excessive  cold  kills  even  the  proud  oak  and 
glorious  elms ;  the  action  of  poisons  or  the  ravages  of  an 
insignificant  beetle  make  an  end  to  their  lives,  but  they 
die — happy  plants  ! — without  pain,  without  consciousness, 
still  and  silent  as  they  have  lived.  Their  time  of  life 
varies  greatly,  from  the  athletic  oak,  that  stands  the  storms 
of  a  thousand  years,  a  monument  of  nations,  to  the  humble 
mushroom  under  its  shade,  which  rises  in  a  night,  to  perish 
in  the  morning.  But  the  season  comes  for  all,  when  the 
wind  passes  over  them,  and  they  are  gone,  and  the  place 
thereof  knows  them  no  more.  And  the  vine  is  dried  up, 
and  the  fig-tree  languisheth,  the  pomegranate,  the  palm- 
tree,  also,  and  the  apple-tree,  even  all  the  trees  of  the 
field  are  withered.  But  how  sweet  is  here  even  the  part- 
ing, how  full  of  comfort  for  the  present,  how  full  of  hope 
for  the  future !  The  dying  breath  of  fading  flowers  is 
their  sweetest  perfume,  and  a  deep  flush  often  overspreads 


206  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

their  rich  crowns,  before  they  fall.  Even  the  leaves,  when 
they  shrink  and  tremble  in  the  autumn  breeze,  are  full 
of  unwonted  sweetness.  And  what  can  equal  the  oft  de- 
scribed glory  of  fall,  when  the  grasses  take  their  humble 
russet  garb,  and  the  maple  wears  its  "gorgeous  crimson 
robe  like  an  Oriental  monarch."  For  leaves  also  change 
— some  only  as  the  ermine  whitening  in  the  cold  season, 
or  as  birds  who  change  their  plumage  in  winter ;  such  are 
the  evergreens ;  others  change  to  live  no  more ;  as  man 
does,  before  he  also  returns,  dust  to  dust.  Their  bright 
green  grows  pale,  their  vigor  declines,  their  delicate  tracery, 
that  had  so  often  induced  us  to  marvel  and  worship  the 
hand  that  made  them,  is  effaced,  and  no  longer  serves  to 
pass  the  life-blood  of  the  tree.  Then  they  shrink  and 
shrivel,  they  flutter  awhile  anxiously  on  their  feeble  leaf- 
stalks, as  if  reluctant  to  leave  their  sweet  summer  home, 
and  then  comes  the  rude  boisterous  gale,  and  tears  them 
for  ever  from  the  parent  tree.  "  The  bare  skeleton  of  the 
tree  becomes  transparent,  rising  in  spectral  grandeur,  as 
it  stretches,  full  of  woe,  its  bare  branches  against  the  cold 
evening  sky,  and  rattles  in  the  fierce  tempest.  A  new, 
ghastly  light  is  shining  through  its  stripped  anatomy.  And 
it  is  a  light,  as  with  man — the  same  light  of  heaven,  which 
in  the  waning  lustre  of  life  makes  his  spirit  become 
lovelier  every  hour,  giving  him  a  sublimer  fliith,  a  brighter 
hope,  a  kindlier  sympathy,  a  gentler  resignation.  Like 
the  autumn  leaf,  he  also  glows  into  decay,  and  kindles 
into  death.  The  sun  of  another  world,  already  risen  upon 
liis  soul,  though  human  eyes  camiot  behold  it,  burns  through 
the  delicate  texture  of  his  thoughts,  feelings  and  desires, 


Later  Years  of  a  Plant. 


207 


and  shines,  already  here  on  earth,  in  all  the  radiancy  of 
truth,  hope,  and  peace." 

Varied,  therefore,  as  the  appointed  time  of  plants  is, 
it  has  its  fixed,  irrevocable  term.  Not  all  leaves  fall  at 
the  same  time.  The  pine-tree  keeps  its  leaves  two  or 
four  years ;  the  fir  and  spruce  change  only  every  ten 
years ;  some  trees  drop  annually  certain  branches.  The 
dead  foliage  of  some  oaks  clings  to  them,  long,  after  all 
others  have  been  swept  away,  and  the  young  elm  waits 
all  winter,  and  drops  not  a  leaf  until  its  successor  pushes 
it  out  of  its  resting-place.  Some  fall  to  form  a  soft  litter 
beneath ;  others  remain  to  afford  shelter  in  bleak  winter. 
But  no  art  of  man  can  arrest  the  falling  leaf  when  its 
day  has  come.  Artificial  heat,  removal  to  a  warmer 
climate,  and  great  care,  may  succeed  in  bringing  out  new 
crops  almost  without  pause — but  the  process  exhausts  the 
ill-used  plant,  and  it  dies  a  premature  death.  Still  even 
the  decayed  leaf  is  not  lost.  It  enriches  the  soil,  and 
fall  produces  spring,  the  dying  leaves  helping  to  bring 
forth  the  bright  verdure  of  the  coming  year.  Thus  the 
great  circle  of  life  goes  on  without  interruption.  The 
general  signal  for  the  shedding  of  leaves  is  the  maturity 
of  the  seed  ;  that  greatest  purpose  of  the  life  of  plants 
once  accomplished,  they  die,  or  at  least,  rest  for  a  season. 
Thus  death  comes  to  some  after  a  few  days ;  bushes  and 
low  trees  keep  their  seeds  during  the  winter,  welcome 
food  for  starving  birds;  and  the  humble  chickweed  brings 
forth  seed  seven  or  eight  times  a  year,  not  resting  even 
during  winter,  and  keeps  open  table  for  many  a  tiny  wren 


208  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

or  hungry  sparrow ;  showing  us  once  more  Providence  so 
much  greater,  as  its  creature  is  feebler. 

This  kind  of  decay  excepted,  plants,  it  is  thought,  are 
not  subject  to  the  destructive  operation  of  internal  causes ; 
vegetable  life  succumbs  to  outward  influences  only.  The 
vitality  of  trees  is  certainly  almost  incredible.  No  kind 
of  mutilation  can,  apparently,  destroy  them.  Who  has 
not  seen  old  willow  trees,  adhering  but  with  a  small  por- 
tion of  the  bark  to  their  roots,  and  yet  continuing  to  live 
and  to  perform  their  duty?  How  beautifully  does  not» 
the  chestnut  of  our  own  noble  forests  send  out  a  crown 
of  young  shoots  to  hide  the  vacant  space  where  once  it 
reared  its  mighty  stem"?  The  whole  vitality  of  the  inner 
wood  may,  in  fact,  be  destroyed ;  if  only  some  layers 
of  the  bark  survive,  the  tree  will  vegetate  with  undi- 
minished vigor,  and  continue  its  life  for  an  almost  un- 
limited period.  They  will,  in  very  old  age,  lose  some  of 
their  height  by  decay  at  the  top,  for  it  seems  as  if  the 
sap  could  no  longer  ascend  the  whole  lengthy  road  from 
the  deeply  buried  roots  to  the  lofty  crown,  but  they  con- 
tinue still  to  increase  in  girth,  and  patiently  wait  for  the 
stroke  of  the  axe  or  the  fierce  rage  of  the  tempest.  Thus 
it  is  that  England  boasts  of  many  a  yew  or  an  oak  tree, 
which  has  survived  the  massive  church,  by  the  side  of 
which  it  was  planted,  and  which  yet,  spring  after  spring, 
shelters  the  ruins  of  its  once  so  proud  companion,  with 
its  dark,  refreshing  verdure.  The  tender  leaf  even  resists 
in  its  fragile  texture,  the  winds  and  rains,  the  burning  sun, 
and  the  nipping  cold  of  a  whole  season.  Greek  and  Ro- 
man sepulchres,  stately  palaces  and  lofty  monuments  over 


Later  Years  of  a  Plant. 


200 


the  graves  of  the  great  and  the  renowned,  have  disap- 
peared ;  nothing  is  left  to  mark  the  place  where  they  once 
stood,  but  the  dark  cypresses  that  saw  them  rise,  and  since 
have  overshadowed  them  for  ages. 

But  even  after  death,  plants  live  on,  as  it  were,  and  are 
useful  to  man.  Vast  tracts  of  heath,  covering  large,  low 
basins,  and  formed  by  the  annual  accumulation  of  veget- 
able matter,  which  in  water  becomes  to  a  certain  degree 
decomposed  or  carbonized,  finally  produce  those  blackened 
remains  of  plants  which  we  call  peat. 

Or  extensive  forests,  covering  valleys,  and  hillsides,  are 
overflooded,  and  the  uprooted  trees  form  a  gigantic  barrier, 
which  prevents  the  flowing  off  of  the  waters.  An  exten- 
sive marsh  is  formed,  particularly  well  adapted  for  the 
growth  of  various  kinds  of  mosses.  As  they  perish  they 
are  succeeded  by  others,  and  so  for  generations  in  un- 
ceasing life  and  labor,  until,  in  the  course  of  time,  the 
bottom,  under  the  influence  of  decay  and  the  pressure 
from  above,  becomes  turf.  Tar  below  lies  hard  coal ; 
the  upper  part  is  light  and  spongy.  At  various  depths, 
but  sometimes  as  much  as  twenty  feet  below  the  surface, 
an  abundance  of  bogwood  is  found,  consisting  mostly  of 
oak,  hard  and  black  as  ebony,  or  of  the  rich  chocolate 
colored  wood  of  the  yew.  Such  ancient  forests  every  now 
and  then  rise  in  awe-inspiring  majesty  from  their  grave. 
The  whole  city  of  Hamburg,  its  harbor,  and  broad  tracts 
of  land  around  it,  rest  upon  a  sunken  forest,  which  is 
now  buried  at  an  immense  depth  below  the  surface.  It 
contains  mostly  limes  and  oaks,  but  must  also  have 
abounded  with  hazel-woods,  for  thousands  of  hazel-nuts  are 


210  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

brought  to  light  by  every  excavation,  not  exactly  made 
for  nuts.  Our  own  city  of  New  Orleans,  it  has  been 
recently  discovered,  is  built  upon  the  most  magnificent 
foundation  on  which  city  ever  rose.  It  was  the  boast 
of  Venice,  that  her  marble  palaces  rested  in  the  waters 
of  the  Adriatic  on  piles  of  costly  wood,  which  now  serve 
to  pay  the  debts  of  her  degenerate  sons,  but  our  Venice 
has  not  less  than  three  tiers  of  gigantic  trees  beneath  it. 
They  all  stand  upright,  one  upon  another,  with  their  roots 
spread  out  as  they  grew,  and  the  great  Sir  Charles  Lyell 
expresses  his  belief  that  it  must  have  taken  at  least 
eighteen  hundred  years  to  fill  up  the  chasm,  since  one 
tier  had  to  rot  away  to  a  level  with  the  bottom  of  the 
swamp  before  the  upper  tier  could  grow  upon  it. 

But  there  is  still  another  vegetable  world  buried  be- 
neath our  feet.  For  the  trees  of  so-called  primeval  forests 
belonging  to  a  period  of  hoary  antiquity  and  far  surpassing 
in  exuberance  the  rankest  tropical  jungles  of  our  day, 
have  not,  like  modern  woods,  undergone  decay,  but  are 
treasured  up  in  subterranean  houses.  There  they  were 
transformed  into  vast  enduring  beds  of  coal,  which  in  these 
latter  ages  has  become  to  man  the  source  of  light,  of 
heat,  and  wealth.  Almost  all  of  these  trees  are  gigantic 
fern-trees,  such  as  the  world  of  our  day  knows  no  more ; 
a  few  are  so-called  club-mosses  of  equally  vast  dimensions. 
Leaves  and 'twigs  rest  closely  one  upon  another,  but  often 
entire  stems  are  found  standing  upright,  forty  to  fifty  feet 
high,  with  all  their  roots  and  branches,  dread  memorials 
of  times  beyond  the  memory  of  man. 

Thus  we  may  trace  the  biography  of  plants  through 


Later  Years  of  a  Plant. 


211 


their  often  brief  but  always  eventful  life,  from  the  first 
appearance  of  a  small  microscopic  cell  to  their  last 
burying-place  under  our  feet,  through  all  the  glories  and 
delicacies  of  vegetable  life,  beginning  with  the  softened 
and  decayed  germ,  and  ending  with  the  fossil  coal.  We 
see  that  each  plant  has  a  life  of  its  own,  that  there  dwells 
still  in  each  tree  a  Dryad  who  watches  over  it  and  de- 
termines its  growth,  or  sighs  her  last  when  it  dies.  We 
observe  the  beautiful  harmony  that  exists  between  all 
their  parts  and  the  world  that  surrounds  them.  How 
the  roots  fasten  themselves  to  the  earth  on  which  they 
grow,  while  the  stem  plays  with  every  breath  of  air  that 
comes  we  know  not  whence.  The  leaves  breathe  the  water 
of  rivers  and  of  the  atmosphere,  the  sun  unfolds  bud  and 
flower,  and  the  seed  at  last  connects  the  plant  once  more 
with  its  future  home,  an  eloquent  witness  of  our  own 
blessed  immortality.  But  there  is  no  monument  set  by 
their  grave  to  tell  us  how  they  lived  and  what  they 
achieved.  Yet,  they  had  their  duties  to  perform,  and 
faithfully  have  they  done  them.  Well  may  we,  then,  in 
conclusion,  ask — Yoy  what  purpose  does  the  plant  spring 
up,  the  soil  feed  and  nourish  it,  and  the  blessed  sun  ma- 
ture its  seed? 

Plants  satisfy  the  common  necessities  of  man  and  beast. 
They  nourish  man's  body  in  health,  they  restore  him  in 
sickness;  they  give  him  the  clothing  that  covers  him,  the 
varied  hues  that  delight  his  eye,  and  the  odors  which  re- 
fresh his  senses ;  the  timber  of  which  his  houses,  his  fac- 
tories, and  his  ships,  are  partly  or  wholly  constructed — all 
these  are  but  a  few  of  the  many  benefits  which  the  veget- 


212  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

able  world  confers  upon  man.  Wherever  we  look,  we 
see  in  it  our  great  resource ;  even  our  railroads  and  our 
mines  could  not  exist,  were  we  not  masters  of  forests. 
We  would  succumb  to  the  cold  of  winter,  food  that  be- 
comes nutritious  only  by  the  aid  of  fire,  would  be  useless, 
the  power  of  steam  would  not  carry  us  from  land  to 
land  and  over  the  broad  ocean,  if  we  had  no  trees.  The 
very  destruction  of  plants  is  made  necessary  for  their  ex- 
istence, for  the  wisdom  and  forethought  of  the  Creator  is 
in  this  also  manifest,  that,  whilst  plants  invest  and  orna- 
ment the  earth,  animals  browse  and  trim  them  to  check 
their  luxuriance,  so  as  to  maintain  the  whole  system  of 
creation  in  order  and  beauty.  And  yet  this  is  but  the 
humblest  purpose  that  plants  serve  on  earth — the  hum- 
blest because  it  only  satisfies  material  requirements,  how- 
ever we  ourselves  may  have  refined  and  varnished  them 
over.  Only  in  one  point  of  view  does  this  important  end 
of  their  existence  obtain  a  higher  value: 

It  is  true,  plants  are  there  for  man,  for  the  countless 
poor,  and  God  said :  In  the  sweat  of  thy  face  shalt  thou 
eat  bread ;  thou  shalt  eat  the  herb  of  the  field.  But  the 
very  curse  of  the  Almighty  has  since  been  turned  into 
a  blessing.  If  man  does  labor  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow, 
to  eat  the  herb  of  the  field — how  abundantly  is  he  re- 
warded !  Of  a  mere  thorn  he  has  made,  as  if  by  enchant- 
ment, the  beautifid  and  fragrant  rose.  Before  he  thus 
labored,  the  olive  was  dry  and  offensive,  the  peach  bitter, 
the  pear  had  but  a  hard,  woody  flesh,  and  the  apple-tree 
was  full  of  thorns.  Man  labored  and  the  thorns  fell,  the 
rose  doubled  and   trebled  its  brilliant  crown,  the  peach 


Later  Years  of  a  Plant. 


213 


and  the  pear  filled  with  perfumed  juice,  the  olive  lost  its 
bitterness,  and  the  wild  grasses  were  converted  into  waving 
fields  of  life-sustaining  grain.  The  influence  which  the 
vegetable  world  thus  exercises  on  the  civilization  of  man, 
is  as  yet  but  little  noticed ;  only  in  the  great  outline  has 
it  been  observed,  that  wherever  the  spontaneous  produc- 
tions of  the  earth  supply  him  with  food,  he  is  completely 
savage — only  a  degree  farther  advanced  where  he  plants 
the  palm  and  the  banana — but  where  grain  is  his  principal 
support,  as  in  the  temperate  zone,  industry  and  intelligence 
are  most  perfectly  developed.  We  are  thus  taught,  that 
the  rich  heir  is  not  the  happiest,  but  that  the  child  of 
the  poor  man,  gifted  with  industry  and  indomitable  will, 
has  far  more  power  over  prosperity. 

Modern  science  has  revealed  to  us,  of  late,  a  higher 
duty  and  a  nobler  purpose  in  the  life  of  plants.  Working 
in  masses  they  regulate  the  numerous  and  comprehensive 
physical  processes  of  the  earth.  Theirs  is  the  duty  to 
keep  the  atmosphere  dry  or  moist,  as  may  be  required. 
On  them  depends  the  warmth  or  the  coldness  and  the  fer- 
tility of  our  soil ;  they  alter  the  climate,  change  the  course 
of  local  winds,  increase  or  diminish  the  quantity  of  rain, 
and  soften  the  rigor  of  the  seasons.  It  is  not  merely 
that  whole  countries  and  regions  look  to  certain  plants 
for  their  sole  support,  or  that  the  life  of  entire  nations 
is  bound  up  with  that  of  a  single  tree,  like  the  Mauritius 
palm,  but  whole  races  of  men,  through  numberless  gener- 
ations, can  live  only  where  it  pleases,  under  Providence, 
certain  plants  to  grow  and  to  prosper. 

By  far  the  noblest  and  most  exalted  purpose  for  which 


SI 4  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

plants  live  is,  however,  to  adorn  the  surface  of  our  beau- 
tiful earth,  and  thus  to  make  manifest  to  us,  in  their  very 
existence,  and  in  all  their  thousand  wonders,  the  Almighty 
Creator  of  heaven  and  earth.  It  is  in  this  aspect  only 
that  plants,  the  types  of  nature,  acquire  their  highest  sig- 
nificance. They  become  then,  not  our  friends  and  sup 
porters  only,  but  our  kindly  teachers  also.  Whether  we 
look  down  upon  soft  mosses  that  creep  over  the  rugged 
rock,  and  humble  lichens  weeping  with  slow  oozing,  or  gaze 
up  at  the  giant  tree  of  the  forest,  every  where  our  mind 
is  lifted  up,  in  awe  and  wonder,  to  that  Intelligence  which 
watches  over  the  destinies  of  the  universe,  and  gives  us 
here  already  a  faint  glimpse  of  the  great  plan  of  crea 
tion  and  its  great  author. 

Clearly,  however,  as  we  all  feel  the  impressions  which 
the  vegetable  world,  and  especially  the  consciousness  of 
their  still,  unceasing  life  and  labor  produces  upon  our 
mind,  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  explain  the  causes,  or 
even  to  determine  and  express  them  in  words,  clearly 
and  distinctly.  The  mere  farmer,  it  is  true,  sees  nothing 
but  tons  of  hay  in  a  flowery  meadow,  and  so  many  bushels 
of  wheat  in  a  glorious  field  of  golden  grain — the  majestic 
forests  represent  to  him  but  so  many  cords  of  wood,  and 
the  broad  branched  elm,  in  all  its  lovely  beauty,  •  shades 
his  land,  and  is  a  nuisance.  On  the  other  hand,  we  know 
that  it  is  not  the  refined  mind  and  the  most  fastidious 
taste  that  enjoy  the  beauties  of  the  vegetable  world  most 
and  best.  The  humble  men  of  St.  Kilda,  we  are  told, 
\vho  went  to  pay  their  duty  to  their  lord  in  the  "  far 
southern"  island  of  Skye,  could  hardly  proceed  on  their 


Later  Years  uf  a  Plant. 


215 


journey,  because  "  the  trees — such  beautiful  things  they 
had  never   seen   even  in  their  dreams — the  trees  kept 
pulling  them  back."    It  is,  moreover,  evidently  not  the 
mere  mass  of  foliage,  nor  the  depth  and  variety  of  color, 
that  affects  our  senses,  but  the  almost  imperceptible  and 
unconscious  effect  of  all  .these  elements  together  on  our 
soul.    The  rose  does  not  please  us  merely  because  of  its 
tender  glow  and  delicate  hue,  but  because  our  imagina- 
tion connects  with  it  the  idea  of  blooming  youth,  and  a 
thousand  other  images  float  around  this.    The  landscape, 
with  its  various  parts  and  beauties,  acts  upon  man,  upon 
his  tone  of  mind,  and  thus  imperceptibly  upon  his  entire 
inward  development.     How  different  must  needs  be  the 
idea  of  the  world  to  him  who  obtained  his  first  impres- 
sions from  the  solemn,  evergreen  pine  woods  of  the  north, 
overshadowing  deep  blue   lakes  and  vast  granite-strewn 
plains ;  and  to  the  happier  man,  whose  early  days  passed 
under  the  bright  leaf  of  the  myrtle  and  the  fragrant  laurel, 
reflecting  the  serene  sky  of  the  south !    Even  in  the  same 
land,  how  differently  is  the  mind  affected  by  the  dark 
shade  of  a  beech-wood,  the  strange  sight  of  a  few  scat- 
tered pines  on  a  lonely  hill,  sighing  sadly  in  the  fitful 
gusts  of  wind,  or  of  broad,  green  pasture-lands,  where  the 
breeze  rustles  gently  through  the  trembling  foliage  of 
birches !    Our  hearts  beat  gladly  and  joyously  when  fields 
of  flowers  are  lighted  up  in  bright  sunshine ;  our  spirits 
droop  when  we  see  them  look  sad  and  forlorn  on  a  rainy, 
melancholy  day.    Peace  and  quiet  happiness  teach  their 
gentle  lessons  to  him  who  dwells  in  fertile  valleys,  with 
velvet  lawns  on  their  bottom,  and  the  sides  tufted  with 


216  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

the  ash,  the  cheerful  beech  or  the  feathery  juniper,  shaded, 
it  may  be,  by  the  soft  dark  verdure  of  ancient  yew-trees, 
whose  venerable  trunks  were  slender  saplings  in  the  age 
when  Druids  worshipped  there.  Men  live  not  so  on  the 
boundless  prairie,  where  the  wolf  chases  the  swift  crane, 
where  cloud  races  after  cloud,  and  the  white  man  wages 
war  against  the  red  man.  Free  and  bold,  beyond  all 
others,  breathes  the  mountaineer,  bred  in  the  fierce,  in- 
cessant warfare  with  the  rigor  of  Alpine  winters  and  the 
dangers  of  the  chamois  hunt ;  defying  all  earthly  power, 
he  looks  down  from  his  lofty  home,  proud  that  liberty 
dwells  on  mountain-heights,  and  that  the  foul  breath  of 
the  grave  does  not  reach  up  into  the  clear  blue  ether 
around  him. 

The  effect  is  as  varied  when  we  take  not  the  whole  vast 
scenery  of  a  landscape,  but  its  more  isolated  parts.  Few 
will  look  upon  the  ineffable  beauty  and  sweetness  of 
flowers,  that  rich  jewelry  with  which  heaven  has  adorned 
the  bosom  of  our  mother  earth,  without  feelings  of  ele- 
vating and  refining  delight.  To  him  who  observes,  not 
with  his  eyes  only,  but  with  his  mind  intent,  his  heart 
alive,  there  is  no  resisting  their  unconscious  unfolding, 
their  peaceful,  childlike  life,  their  gentle,  resigned  and 
hopeful  drooping.  Who  has  not  in  his  life  also  some 
days  of  gay  and  sunny  spring,  when  he  loved  to  look 
upon  flowers  as  dear  to  him,  full  of  hope  and  love,  when 
he  felt  for  them  and  with  them,  as  they  would  ever  look 
fondly  upward  to  the  clear,  blue  heaven  above,  smiling 
on  the  sun  that  cheered  them,  rising  lightly  from  reft'eshing 
rain,  never  folding  up  their  beauty  and  sweet  fragrance, 


Later  Years  of  a  Plant.  217 

save  to  give  it  forth  again  as  day  would  once  more 
brightly  rise.  Oh,  well  has  it  been  said  that  each  cup 
of  a  flower  is  a  pulpit,  and  each  leaf  a  book  from  which 
we  may  learn  the  wisdom,  goodness  and  power  of  Him 
who  has  so  lavishly  scattered  his  handiwork  over  the  face 
of  the  earth.  Few,  also,  can  look  up  to  a  stately  tree, 
reared  in  its  colossal  leafy  grandeur,  its  head  in  the  clouds, 
its  roots  in  the  firm  earth,  so  full  of  life  and  vigor,  with- 
out feeling  himself  lifted  up  with  its  gigantic  branches 
to  higher  thoughts  and  purer  feelings.  We  all  can  feel 
with  the  exiled  Syrian,  who  went  to  the  Jardin  des  Plantes 
and  there  "clasped  his  country's  tree  and  wept."  And 
as  the  scalding  tears  trickled  down  the  rugged  cheek,  he 
was  once  more  a  wanderer  in  the  desert,  and  once  more 
he  breathed,  across  the  dreary  sand,  the  perfume  from  the 
thicket  bordering  on  his  promised  land ;  again  he  saw, 
afar  off,  the  palm-tree,  cresting  over  the  lonely,  still  wa- 
ters, and  heard  the  pleasant  tinkle  of  the  distant  camel's 
bell — until  his  tears  were  dried,  hope  again  revived,  and 
fresh  and  glad  emotions  rose  within  his  swelling  breast. 
Oh,  there  are  wondrous  lessons  in  plants !  Eloquently 
quotes  a  modern  writer  thus  of  the  words  that  trees  speak 
to  us :  "  Do  not  trees  talk  with  their  leafy  lungs  ?  Do 
they  not  at  sunrise,  when  the  wind  is  low  and  the  birds 
are  carolling  their  songs,  play  sweet  music?  Who  has 
ever  heard  the  soft  whisper  of  young  leaves  in  spring, 
on  a  sunny  morning,  that  did  not  feel  as  if  rainbow  beams 
of  gladness  were  running  through  his  heart  ?  and  then, 
when  the  morning  glory,  like  a  nun  before  God's  holy 
altar,  discloses  her  beauteous  fice  and  the  moss-roses  open 
10 


218  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

their  crimson  lips,  sparkling  with  nectar  that  fell  from 
heaven,  who  does  not  bless  his  Maker  1 — and  when  autumn 
comes,  the  season  of  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf,  when  wheat 
is  in  its  golden  prime,  and  the  corn  waves  its  silken  tassels 
in  the  charmed  air,  who  is  not  reminded  of  the  reaper 
death?" 

As  every  season  has  its  own  tone  and  lesson,^^  every 
flora  and  every  variety  has  its  peculiar  echo  in  the  heart 
of  man.  Harmonizing,  like  music,  with  all  the  various 
trains  of  thought  and  images  of  fancy,  with  every  con- 
ceivable state  of  mind,  plants  and  groups  of  plants  ever 
awaken  kindred  feelings.  There  is  a  mysterious  affinity 
between  human  consciousness  and  outward  nature,  but  still 
more  mysterious  is  the  varied  manner  in  which  this  re- 
lation is  modified  by  individual  feeling.  The  waving  corn- 
field has  its  beauties,  and  so  have  long  avenues  of  poplars, 
with  vines  hanging  in  rich  festoons  from  tree  to  tree. 
Plains  covered  with  orange  groves  and  chequered  with 
fertile  slopes  and  vineyards,  dense  forests  of  gigantic  and 
primeval  growth  swarming  with  every  variety  of  animal 
and  vegetable  life,  these  and  countless  other  scenes  find 
each  its  response  in  some  train  of  human  emotions  and 
affections,  which,  like  the  lyre  of  Timotheus,  they  by  turns 
excite  and  soothe.  Each  tree  that  we  know  has  its  own 
expression ;  it  has  witnessed  our  joy  or  our  grief,  and 
wherever  it  meets  our  eye,  it  seems  to  murmur  responses. 
So  it  is  with  larger  groups.  Here  we  see  vast  prairies 
with  gently  waving  floods  of  verdure,  full  of  grace  and 
cheerfulness,  there  long  sombre  porticoes  of  gnarled  old 
stems,  standing,  as  the  cedars  of  Lebanon,  massive  pillars, 


Later  Years  of  a  Plant. 


210 


supporting  their  ponderous  domes.  Beautiful  roses,  with 
their  short-lived  flowers  and  hidden  but  permanent  thorns, 
remind  us  of  earthly  pleasures — a  forest,  with  its  silent 
temple  of  foliage,  raised  through  centuries  on  gigantic 
trunks,  high  above  man  and  full  of  peace  and  majesty, 
fills  us  with  religious  awe,  and  makes  us  bow  low  and 
reverently  before  these  visible  tokens  of  the  Creator's 
sublime  power.  Even  the  humblest  of  flowers  bring  with 
their  sweet  perfume  rich  blessings  to  the  heart  of  him 
whose  hand  tends  them  with  care.  Where  a  flower  opens 
its  quiet,  child-like  eyes  upon  us,  our  passions  fly  like 
evil  spirits,  and  he  who  delights  in  the  still,  humble  growth 
of  delicate  plants,  is  not  apt  to  harbor  coarse  thoughts 
or  fierce  feelings.  In  the  house  around  which  we  see  a 
tidy,  well-kept  garden,  order  and  peace  are  apt  to  prevail, 
and  where  there  is  a  flower-stand  outside,  there  is  almost 
always  a  book-shelf  within. 

In  his  joy  and  in  his  sorrow,  therefore,  man  loves  to 
surround  himself  with  plants  and  flowers.  He  crowns  the 
bride  with  sweet  myrtle  or  the  pure  orange  blossom ;  the 
laurel  speaks  to  him  of  glory  and  renown,  the  palm-branch 
of  glorious  hopes  for  the  future.  And  w^hen  the  loved 
one  departs,  he  turns  again  to  the  flowers  of  the  earth 
and  the  trees  of  the  forest,  that  they  may  grieve  with 
him  and  give  expression  to  his  sorrow.  From  the  South 
Sea  to  the  icy  north,  from  east  to  west,  grief  finds  the 
same  simple  but  touching  expression.  The  mourning 
peasant  of  Normandy  burns  the  lowly  straw  bed,  on  which 
his  friend  expired,  before  his  hut,  and  the  round  black 
spot,  as  it  contrasts  with  the  green  turf  by  its  side,  re- 


220  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

mains  long  an  humble  but  eloquent  epitaph  of  him  who 
left  no  other  record  behind.  In  peaceful  villages  we  see 
neither  gorgeous  monuments,  nor  lofty  trees  rising  in  honor 
of  the  dead — and,  we  fear,  as  frequently  in  praise  of  the 
living — but,  sweeter  far,  the  graves  are  covered  with  green 
sod  or  humble  flowers.  "  We  adorn  graves,"  says  gentle 
Evelyn,  "with  flowers  and  redolent  plants,  just  emblems 
of  the  life  of  man,  which  has  been  compared  in  Holy 
Scripture  to  those  fading  beauties,  whose  roots  being 
buried  in  dishonor,  rise  again  in  glory." 

The  Japanese  deck  with  flowers  their  "  eternal  mansion," 
and  the  Turks  perforate  the  monumental  slabs  spread  on 
those  who  shall  be  seen  no  more,  in  order  that  a  natural 
growth  of  bloom  may  spring  up  through  the  apertures, 
and  that  the  buds,  so  nourished  by  the  grave,  and  set  free 
to  the  winds  of  heaven,  may  shed  their  fragrance  and 
strew  their  petals  around  the  "  city  of  silence."  The 
western  traveller  gazes  with  deep  sympathy  upon  the 
grave  of  the  Chinese ;  it  is  a  simple,  conical  mound  of 
earth,  but  over  it  spread  and  twine  wild  roses  and  cover 
it  with  a  mass  of  pure  white  blossoms,  or  it  is  crowned, 
in  simple  majesty,  with  a  tall  tuft  of  waving  grass.  Our 
cities,  also,  now  love  to  bury  their  dead  where  woods  un- 
fold their  massive  foliage  and  breathe  an  air  of  heaven ; 
their  better  taste  has  made  the  green  grove  and  the  velvet 
lawn  sacred  to  the  memory  of  those  that  are  gone  to 
the  realms  of  peace. 

And  what  eloquent  mourners  are  not  trees !  The  dense 
cone  of  the  cypress  overshadows  mournfully  the  Moslem's 
tomb,  with  its  sculptured  turban,  and  the  terebinth  keeps 


Later  Years  of  a  Plant. 


221 


watch  by  the  Armenian's  grave.  Some  nations  love  to 
weep  with  the  weeping  birch,  that  most  beautiful  of  forest 
trees,  the  lady  of  the  woods,  with  "boughs  so  pendulous 
and  fair,"  or  with  the  willow  of  Babylon,  on  whose  branches 
the  captive  Israelites  hung  up  their  harps.  They  love  to 
look  upon  their  long,  thin  leaves  and  branches,  as  they 
hang  languidly  down  to  the  ground,  or  trail  listlessly  on 
the  dark  waters,  now  waving  full  of  sadness  in  the  sigh- 
ing breeze,  and  now  floating  in  abandoned  despair  on  the 
silent  waves.  Their  whole  dishevelled  and  disheartened 
aspect  seems  to  deplore  some  great  misfortune,  and  we 
can  fancy  poor  Desdemona  singing  how 

"The  poor  soul  sat  sighing  by  a  sycamoro  tree, 
Sing  all  a  green  ■willow, 
Her  hand  on  her  bosom,  her  head  on  her  knee. 
The  fresh  streams  ran  by  her  and  murmured  her  moans. 
Her  salt  tears  fell  from  her  and  softened  the  stones. 

Sing  all  a  green  willow  must  be  my  garland," 

for  Desdemona  also  had  a  song  of  a  willow,  and  she  died 
singing  the  song  of  the  willow. 

Other  nations  again  love  not  trees  that  seem  to  unite 
in  sorrow  with  the  earth,  and  to  carry  our  regrets  to  the 
dust,  but  rather  cherish  such  as  seem  to  lift  up  our  hearts 
in  their  branches,  and  to  raise  our  hopes  to  heaven.  Such 
are  the  mountain  cypress,  the  lofty  poplar  and  the  sombre 
pine  of  the  north.  The  latter,  especially,  with  their  dark 
but  evergreen  foliage,  their  balsamic  fragrance,  the  strange 
sad  sighs  that  are  ever  heard  in  their  long  boughs,  and 
their  lofty  crowns,  reaching  to  the  very  clouds,  which  sue- 


222  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

cessive  seasons  find  unchanged  and  nothing  but  death 
causes  to  vary,  remind  us  of  the  only  source  from  whence 
comfort  comes  for  our  wounded  hearts,  and  lift  up  our 
eye  and  our  heart  to  that  God  who  gives  death  and  gives 
life  again  to  those  that  fear  him. 


Plant-Mummies. 


223 


VII. 


He  spoke  of  beauty:  that  the  dull 
Saw  no  divinity  in  grass, 


Life  in  dead  stone,  or  spirit  in  the  air/ 


Tennyson. 


IHE  Psalmist  says : — "  Thou  madest  man  to  have  do- 


minion over  the  works  of  thy  hand ;  thou  hast  put 
all  things  under  his  feet."  And  truly,  man  is  the  master 
of  the  world. 

There  comes  a  joyous  breeze  in  freedom  through  the 
air,  and  sings  its  merry  songs  in  rush  and  reed,  or  plays 
sportively  with  branch  and  briar.  But  see,  man  stands 
upon  the  breezy  hill,  and  catches  the  light-footed  wanderer 
above ;  he  stops  him  on  his  fruitless  errand  and  makes 
him  a  servant,  a  slave.  The  wind  can  no  longer  roam  at 
will  over  hill  and  dale ;  he  must  turn,  in  restless  haste, 
the  huge  wings  of  a  mill,  or  he  is  bound  in  towering 
sails,  and  has  to  drive  mighty  ships  through  the  impeding 


waves. 


224  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

There  rushes  a  bright,  cheerful  spring  from  its  cold 
mountain  home  down  into  the  plain,  and  as  it  leaps  over 
rock  and  root,  it  dashes  its  snow-white  f6am  into  the  daz- 
zling sunshine,  and  raises  its  little  anthem  of  thanks  and 
praise  at  every  fall,  in  every  valley.  But  here,  also,  the 
master  stands  in  its  way  and  compels  it,  a  child  yet,  to 
turn  the  mill-wheel ;  or  he  loads  the  well-grown  river 
with  heavily-laden  barges,  that  it  must  carry  from  land 
to  land  to  the  mighty  ocean. 

The  fish  of  the  sea,  the  fowl  of  the  air,  and  every  living 
thing  that  moveth  upon  the  earth,  the  trees  and  the  herbs, 
the  stones  and  the  metals — they  are  all  slaves  and  serfs 
of  man.  Even  the  lowest,  made  in  the  image  of  God, 
is  still  master  of  all  the  powers  of  Nature.  The  South 
Sea  islander  makes  plants  support  him,  and  beasts  serve 
him;  they  build  his  hut  on  land,  and  carry  him  in  boats 
over  the  seas.  Savage  and  inhospitable  winter  fashions 
the  water  into  clear  blocks  of  ice  to  build  the  Esquimaux' 
house;  the  seal  furnishes  oil  for  his  lamp,  the  whale  gives 
him  ribs  for  his  boat,  and  heads  for  his  arrows. 

But  it  is  not  the  strong  arm  and  the  skilful  hand  of 
man  that  makes  him  thus  master  of  Creation.  His  mind 
is  the  ruler  of  the  world,  the  true  Lord  of  Nature.  It 
makes  the  sea  and  the  mountain  his  slaves,  so  that  the 
ice  of  the  pole,  and  the  heat  of  the  tropics  must  serve  him 
as  he  wills.  And  when  he  has  mastered  all  that  eye  can 
see,  and  hand  can  grasp,  when  the  present  has  nothing 
more  to  give  him,  and  the  future  seems  to  elude  his  grasp, 
he  descends  into  the  past,  and  raises  even  the  spirits  of 
the  departed  to  serve  him. 


Plant-Mummies. 


225 


Man  had  exhausted  the  resources  which  the  vegetalilc 
world  of  our  day  afforded  him  ;  every  herb  bearing  seed, 
and  every  tree  in  which  is  the  fruit  of  a  tree,  had  been 
to  him  for  meat.  But  he  desired  more,  and  his  restless, 
insatiable  mind  longed  for  new  realms  and  new  powers. 
So  he  went  back  into  distant  ages  and  exhumed  the  bodies 
of  ancient  generations.  For  animals  and  plants  both,  are 
made  faithfully  to  return,  to  their  common  mother  earth, 
whatever  they  have  taken  from  her.  The  beast  of  the 
field,  and  even  proud  man  die,  and  dust  returns  to  dust. 
Plants,  also,  the  first-born  children  of  the  earth,  must  die, 
and  return  to  the  bosom  of  their  great  mother.  But  they 
sink  only  to  rise  again,  or  if  buried  beneath  the  ruins  of 
ages,  they  preserve,  even  there,  in  eternal  night,  a  breath 
of  their  former  vitality,  and  centuries  after,  their  dead 
bodies  become,  in  the  hands  of  man,  once  more  a  source 
of  light  and  life. 

From  the  western  coast  of  France,  vast  desert  plains' 
stretch  far  east,  through  northern  Germany  and  Russia, 
until  they  are  lost  in  distant  and  unknown  Siberia.  The 
traveller  shudders,  he  knows  not  why,  as  the  boundless 
expanse  first  strikes  his  eye.  There  is  no  fresh  waving 
tree  to  whisper  words  of  good  cheer  and  pleasant  welcome ; 
there  is  not  a  hill,  "  which  God  delighted  to  dwell  in." 
All  is  level,  covered  with  brownish-red  heather,  with  the 
golden  blossom  of  the  broom  and  thorny  juniper-bushes. 
Only  now  and  then  a  green  marsh  relieves  the  oppressive 
monotony,  and  grazing  herds  of  cattle  give  life  to  the 
scene;  but  soon  again  the  desolate  moor  spreads  far  be- 
yond the  horizon  in  dark,  dreary  dullness.  The  air  hangs 
10* 


22G  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

in  gloom  over  the  lifeless  swamp;  even  the  moor  fowl 
cries  as  in  agony,  and  the  swift  swallow,  chasing  light- 
winged  dragon-flies  over  the  rushes,  twitters  in  an  un- 
dertone, and  utters  mournful  complaints.  Poverty  alone 
dwells  on  the  borders  of  these  desolate  plains ;  low  huts 
scarcely  venture  to  raise  their  turf-roofs  a  few  feet  above 
the  ground,  and  the  dwellers  on  marsh  and  moor  show 
in  their  pale,  downcast  features,  that  the  clear  air  of  heaven 
but  rarely  greets  them,  and  that  the  pure  water  of  high- 
land springs  is  a  luxury  unknown. 

Yet,  these  moors  are  a  world  of  their  own,  peopled  by 
races  of  beings,  found  nowhere  else,  and  furnished  with 
plants  unknown  to  other  lands.  They  have  their  history 
as  well  as  the  lofty  mountain  and  the  rich  valley ;  they 
are  born,  they  grow  and  prosper,  they  decay  and  vanish. 

On  many  a  plain,  on  lofty  table-lands,  or  close  to  the 
ocean's  restless  pulse,  wherever  water  gathers,  from  a 
thousand  invisible  sources,  little  pools  and  miniature  lakes 
are  formed,  which  the  clayey  ground  or  solid  rock  beneath 
prevents  from  reaching  their  great  home  in  the  sea.  Upon 
these  waters  little  tiny  plants  appear,  hardly  visible  con- 
fervse ;  they  come,  man  knows  not  whence,  but  they  mul- 
tiply in  amazing  haste  and  soon  cover  the  stagnant  pool 
with  living  green.  Of  a  sudden,  however,  they  are  gone ; 
they  have  sunk  down  to  the  bottom.  There  they  form 
layer  upon  layer ;  slowly,  indeed,  for  the  naked  eye 
measures  them  only  by  hundreds  of  generations;  but  as 
particles  of  sand  and  stone  gather  in  their  hidden  folds, 
and  as  the  bodies  and  shells  of  countless  minute  animals, 
who  found  a  home  in  the  waters  above,  are  ])uried  amidst 


Plant-Mummies. 


227 


them,  they  rise  year  after  year.  Gradually  they  afford  a 
footing  and  food  for  numerous  water-worts,  in  whose  moul- 
dering remains  mosses  and  rushes  begin  to  settle.  These 
bind  their  roots  firmly,  they  join  hand  in  hand,  and  arm 
in  arm,  until  at  last  they  form  a  soft  green  cover  of  peaty 
mould,  far  and  near,  over  the  dark,  mysterious  waters. 

The  older  the  moor,  the  firmer  and  stronger  is,  of 
course,  this  turf  cover  over  the  brownish  pool,  that  gives 
out  a  faint  but  piercing  fragrance.  Near  the  sea-shore, 
and  in  rainy  regions,  larger  quantities  of  water  frequently 
remain  between  the  firm  ground  and  the  felt-like  cover, 
so  that  the  surface  breathes  and  heaves  like  the  waves 
of  the  great  ocean.  In  drier  countries,  heath,  hair-grass, 
and  even  bilberry  bushes  grow  in  the  treacherous  mould. 
But  the  moisture  beneath  gnaws  constantly  at  their  roots, 
so  that  they  die  off,  whilst  the  herb  above  clings  per- 
tinaciously to  life,  and  sends  out  ever -new  shoots — a  faint, 
false  semblance  of  life,  like  the  turf  on  the  moor  itself, 
in  its  restless,  unstable  suspension  above  the  dark-brown 
water  beneath. 

This  turf-cover,  consisting  of  countless  partly  decayed 
plants  and  their  closely  interwoven  roots,  is  our  peat; 
those  vegetable  masses  that  have  accumulated  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  moor  are  bog-earth,  and  below  them,  as  the 
oldest  layer  of  all,  lies  the  so-called  black  peat.  As  early, 
even,  as  the  thirteenth  century,  these  remnants  of  minute 
mosses  were  used  as  fuel ;  but  it  was  not  until  the  six- 
teenth century  that  the  Dutch  especially,  who  know  no 
other  kind  of  fuel,  devised  a  systematic  mode  of  making 
these  treasures  permanently  available.    Now,  the  upper  turf 


228  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

is,  during  the  dry  season,  cut  out  into  large  square  pieces, 
that  serve  mainly  to  cover  the  lowly  huts,  which  the 
dwellers  in  those  regions  bury  half  under  ground,  and  then 
raise  a  few  feet  by  loosely  arranged  stones.  There  they 
live,  the  most  miserable  of  men  upon  earth,  dark  gloom 
all  around  them,  and  deeper  gloom  yet  within  their  cheer- 
less, unlighted  hovels. 

If  the  moor  is  deeper,  ditches  are  dug  to  carry  off  the 
dismal  water,  and  then  the  lower  peat  is  carried  away 
in  large  pieces  to  serve  as  fuel.  Often,  when  it  is  too 
moist,  it  has  to  be  kneaded,  pressed  into  form,  and  then 
carefully  to  be  arranged  in  large,  well-aired  sheds,  to  dry 
and  to  settle.  If  water  be  allowed  to  stand  on  the  ex- 
cavated moor,  the  peat  is  renewed  in  a  few  years,  and 
may  be  cut  again,  though  the  period  varies  from  twenty 
to  two  hundred  years  in  different  portions  of  Europe. 

Vast  regions  of  our  globe  are  covered  with  these  rem- 
nants of  once  bright,  blooming  flowers.  The  table-lands 
of  the  Cordilleras  in  South  America,  the  boundless  plains 
of  Siberia,  one-tenth  of  all  Ireland,  a  large  portion  of  Ger- 
many, part  of  Scotland,  Jutland,  and  Norway — even  the 
sides  and  valleys  of  the  Alps  abound  with  such  moors. 
The  polar  circles  are  not  free  from  them ;  there,  also, 
mosses  and  alga3  still  grow,  and  so  closely  and  thickly 
that  they  form,  as  it  were,  but  one  great  mass  of  woody 
fibre.  Their  growth  is  peculiar ;  they  add  every  year  new 
shoots  to  the  upper  extremities,  whilst  the  lower  as  con- 
stantly die  and  change,  when  dry,  into  rich  humus,  but, 
w^hen  kept  moist,  into  peat.  Thus  the  flimous  Tundra, 
the   giant-morass  of  Siberia,  is   an  almost  inexhaustible 


Plant-Mummies. 


229 


storehouse  of  this  most  valuable  material.  In  our  own 
United  States,  it  is  well  known,  swamps  of  enormous  extent 
abound  in  the  south,  overgrown  mostly  with  cypresses,  and 
containing  large  peat-bogs,  into  which  man  can  only  ven- 
ture at  the  peril  of  his  life. 

Almost  inaccessible  in  days  of  yore,  haunted  by  ghastly 
spectres,  and  illumined  only  by  the  treacherous  light  of 
will-o'the-wisps,  these  dreary  but  valuable  regions  are  now 
cut  through  by  railways  and  canals.  For  miles  and  miles 
the  traveller  in  Europe  passes  through  the  midst  of  count- 
less gigantic  heaps  of  peat.  Here  and  there,  miserable 
huts  are  half  hidden  ;  stunted,  squalid  children,  play  around 
them  in  dogged  silence;  in  the  distance  a  cross,  formed 
of  white  birch  poles,  rises  high  in  the  air,  and  before  it, 
lies  prostrate  their  mother,  buried  in  anxious  prayer.  Be- 
yond it,  you  see  long  rows  of  laborers,  strong,  swarthy 
men,  breast  high  in  the  swamp,  digging  with  eager  haste, 
whilst  others  cany  huge  masses,  well-balanced  on  their 
heads,  to  the  drying-house. 

Here,  also,  the  power  of  the  small  in  the  great  house- 
hold of  Nature  is  strikingly  illustrated.  Tiny  conferva) 
and  barely-visible  swamp-mosses  form  vast  moors,  the  fuel 
of  nations,  giving  bread  to  thousands,  regions  fuH  of  won- 
ders and  mysterious  charms.  A  diminutive  water-lentil 
(Lenna  trisulca)  is  the  main  laborer  in  this  unknown  and 
unseen  process.  With  its  little,  dark-green  leaves,  it  lives 
entirely  under  water ;  only  when  about  to  blossom,  it 
rises  for  awhile  into  the  air,  and  then  sinks  forever  to  the 
bottom,  there  to  be  changed  into  peat.  It  forms  closely- 
woven,  thick  layers,  filled  with  sand  and  snails,  and  even 


230  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

trees.  When  confervce  alone  are  at  work,  the  peat  lies 
in  the  shape  of  thin,  paper-like  leaves,  as  if  year  after 
year  a  new  generation  had  lain  down  to  rest  on  the  corpses 
of  the  preceding  season.  Small  streams  of  water,  flowing 
under  ground,  complete  the  decay  of  the  vegetable  matter, 
and  consolidate  the  whole,  till  it  becomes  blended  in  one 
confused  mass. 

Dark  and  dismal  the  green  turf  stretches  far  away,  as 
far  as  eye  can  reach.  It  knows  neither  spring  nor  sum- 
mer. Below  is  the  dark,  unfathomed  abyss.  Here  and 
there  fierce  gusts  of  wind,  or  strange  powers  from  below, 
have  torn  the  gloomy  shroud  asunder,  and  the  dark,  black 
waters  stare  at  you,  like  the  despairing  eye  of  the  dying 
sinner.  Even  the  bright  sun  of  heaven  cannot  light  up 
the  haunted  mirror — its  golden  face  looks  pale  and  leaden. 
No  fish  swims  in  the  inhospitable  water ;  no  boat  passes 
swiftly  from  shore  to  shore.  Whatever  has  life  and  dreads 
death,  flees  the  treacherous  moor.  Woe  to  the  unfortunate 
man  who  misses  the  narrow  path !  A  single  step  amiss, 
and  he  sinks  into  the  gulf ;  the  green  turf  closes  over 
him  and  drowns  the  gurgling  of  the  waters  and  the  anxious 
cry  of  the  victim. 

Far,  far  down  in  the  depths  of  the  moor  there  lies 
many  a  secret  of  olden  times.  Below  the  grim,  ghastly 
surface,  below  the  waters,  below  the  black  remnants  of 
countless  plants,  lie  the  sad  memorials  of  ages  unknown 
to  the  history  of  man.  Huge  trees  stand  upright,  and 
their  gigantic  roots  rest  upon  the  crowns  of  still  older 
forest-giants  !  In  the  inverted  oaks  of  Murten  Moor,  in 
Switzerland,  many  see  the  famous  oak-woods  that  Charle- 


Plant-Mummies. 


231 


magne  caused  to  be  cut  down,  now,  more  than  a  thou- 
sand years  ago.  For  centuries  the  moors  have  hid  in 
their  silent  bosom  the  gigantic  works  of  ancient  Bome, 
and  posterity  has  gazed  with  awe  and  wonder  at  the  mas- 
terly roads  and  massive  bridges,  like  those  built  of  per- 
ishable w^ood  by  Germanicus  when  he  passed  from  Holland 
into  the  valley  of  the  Weser.  Far,  in  the  deep,  lie  buried 
the  stone  hatchets  and  flint  arrow-heads  of  Frisians  and 
Cheruski,  by  the  side  of  the  copper  kettle  and  the  iron 
helmet  of  the  Roman  soldier.  A  Phoenician  skiff  was 
found  of  late,  and  alongside  of  it  a  boat  laden  with  bricks. 
The  skeletons  of  antediluvian  animals  rest  there  peaceably 
by  the  corpses  of  ancient  races  with  sandals  on  their  feet 
ind  the  skins  of  animals  around  their  naked  bodies.  Hun- 
dreds of  brave  English  horsemen,  who  sought  an  honorable 
death  in  the  battle  of  Solway,  were  swallowed  up,  horse 
and  men,  by  the  insatiable  moor.  And  in  years  bygone, 
a  Danish  King  Harold,  called  the  Blue  Tooth,  allured  with 
foul  treachery  a  fair  princess  of  Norway,  Gunhilde,  to  Jut- 
land. She  came,  and  she  vanished  from  the  memory  of 
man.  History  had  forgotten  her,  tradition  even  began  to 
fade;  but  a  peat-bog  opened  its  long-closed  lips,  and  ac- 
cused, late  but  loud,  the  bloody  king  of  his  wicked  deed. 
The  poor  princess  was  found,  far  below  the  peat,  strangled 
and  tied  to  a  post,  where  her  merciless  foe  had  buried 
her,  as  he  thought,  forever,  in  the  abyss. 

It  is  a  strange  and  most  melancholy  charm  which  these 
low  chambers  of  death  have  for  the  careful  observer. 
Where  once  gigantic  animals  dwelt,  and  tropical  plants 
flourished  in  splendor,  where  broad  roads  passed  through 


232 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


the  land,  or  forests  stood  in  ancient  pride ;  where  trade 
and  commerce  prospered,  and  richly  laden  vessels  sailed 
from  port  to  port — there  now  the  dead  moor  covers  all 
life  and  spreads  its  dread  winding-sheet  alike  over  the 
deepest  sea  and  the  richest  valley. 

Even  in  our  day,  moors  grasp  with  their  death-hand 
at  living  nature  around  them.  Here  and  there  a  lofty 
tree  still  rises  from  the  dismal  depth ;  in  mountain  valleys 
even  groves  and  forests  sometimes  break  the  sad  monotony. 
But  in  the  unequal  struggle  the  moor  is  sure  to  win  the 
battle.  Like  foul  disease,  the  hungry  moor-water  gnaws 
at  the  roots  of  noble  trees.  It  softens  the  ground,  it 
changes  it  into  morass,  and  the  proud  giants  of  the  forest 
fall  one  by  one,  before  the  dark,  invisible  foe  beneath 
them.  They  resist  long  and  bravely;  but  their  roots  are 
drowned  with  the  abominable  liquid,  their  hold  is  loosened, 
their  leaves  turn  yellow  and  crisp ;  the  wintry  storm 
comes  in  fury,  and  the  noble  trees  sink  powerless  into 
the  grave  at  their  feet.  The  struggle  may  be  marked, 
even  now,  in  all  its  stages.  Thus,  in  the  famous  Black 
Forest  of  Germany,  there  rise  on  many  a  breezy  hill 
glorious  old  fir-trees  and  graceful,  silvery  birches.  Only 
a  few  yards  beyond,  however,  the  eye  meets  but  with 
sorry,  stunted  dwarfs,  trees  crippled  before  they  reached 
their  height,  old  before  their  time,  and  weak  already,  in 
the  days  of  their  youth.  Their  crowns  are  withered,  their 
branches  hung  with  weird,  weeping  mosses.  Then  the  trees 
become  still  fewer  and  smaller ;  low,  deformed  trunks,  with 
twisted  branches  alone  survive.  At  last,  these  also  dis- 
appear, and  the  dead  quiet  of  the  moor,  with  its  humble 


Plant-Mummies. 


233 


heath,  broken  only  here  and  there  by  a  dying  bush,  or 
a  lowly  hillock,  reigns  alone  and  triumphant. 

Even  the  sea  has  its  moors  and  its  bogs.  When  the 
tide  recedes  from  the  coasts  of  France  and  England,  vast 
hidden  morasses  become  visible.  Eor  miles  and  miles 
they  stretch  into  the  sea,  these  wide  oceanic  meadows. 
Engulfed  plains,  sunken  marshes,  where  thousands  of  years 
ago  a  joyous  world  lived  and  loved,  are  now  the  home 
of  fishes  and  muscles.  Often  a  tempest  brings  large  tracts 
of  this  watery  peat  to  the  shore,  or  a  fisherman  drags 
huge  pieces  of  bog  from  the  deep. 

Stranger  still  is  it,  when  the  air  enclosed  in  the  fine,  firm 
texture  of  matted  roots  and  fibres,  buoys  a  bog  and  raises 
♦it  high  up  into  the  air.  Then  large  pieces  are  torn  from 
their  ancient  resting  places,  and  are  carried  about  like 
floating  islands,  at  the  mercy  of  winds,  until  the  waves 
rend  them  into  fragments,  or  the  water  they  imbibe  makes 
them  too  heavy,  so  that  they  sink  once  more  clown  to 
their  proper  home.  Such  islands  of  peat  have  been  found 
large  enough  to  afford  pasture  for  a  hundred  head  of 
cattle ;  but  a  few  years  destroy  their  form,  and  they  dis- 
appear without  leaving  a  trace  behind  them.  Near  St. 
Omer,  in  France,  these  islands  are  left  to  roam  freely, 
during  summer  wherever  they  list,  but  in  winter  they  are 
tied  fast  to  the  shore.  Still  others  bear  trees,  even  on 
their  surface ;  and  both  Russia  and  Chili  have  such  strange 
vagrants,  formed  of  sea-grass,  even  in  clear,  transparent 
M^ater. 

Rarely  only,  the  moor  despises  the  slow  progress  of  un- 
dermining and  silently  engulfing  living  nature,  and  breaks, 


234  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

in  wild  fury,  through  its  long  quiet.  The  putrefying  waters 
and  the  fermenting  masses  of  decayed  vegetation,  beneath 
the  closely  woven  turf,  develop  gases  which  then  raise  the 
plain  into  hills  and  change  the  whole  aspect  of  the  land- 
scape. When  this  force  is  very  great,  or  when  rocks  and 
masses  of  earth  impede  its  convulsive  movement,  the  swol- 
len bog  suddenly  opens  with  hoarse  thunder,  and  a  black 
torrent  of  foul,  hideous  mire  pours  forth  with  overwhelm- 
ing violence.  Thus  it  happened  in  1821,  at  TuUamore, 
Ireland,  when  a  huge  bog,  several  acres  in  extent,  broke 
loose,  and  travelled  for  nine  miles,  over  a  broken  country. 
It  laid  waste  everything  it  met  with  in  its  course.  Houses 
were  levelled  with  the  ground  at  its  touch;  trees  torn  up 
by  the  roots ;  the  fields  were  covered  and  the  valleys^ 
filled  with  bog.  Thousands  of  men  were  summoned  to 
arrest  its  destructive  march ;  dams  were  built,  and  walls 
were  erected,  but  all  in  vain.  The  torrent  rested  not  in 
its  fatal  course,  until  its  fury  was  exhausted,  and  silence 
once  more  brooded  on  the  black  moor. 

Far  in  the  deepest  deep  of  our  mother  earth  lie  still 
older  mummies  of  plants,  that  flourished  and  withered  long 
before  the  gates  of  heaven  were  opened  and  God's  bow 
was  set  in  the  cloud.  They  date  back  to  the  mysterious 
days  when  the  hardly  formed  globe,  still  incandescent,  was 
but  loosely  held  together  by  a  thin  crust  of  primary  rocks. 
Below  them  the  pent  up  fires  of  the  vasty  deep  glowed 
and  raged  in  untamed  fury ;  above  them  hung  a  hot,  stifling 
air,  and  huge  masses  of  heavily  laden  clouds.  Rain,  fierce, 
incessant  rain,  poured  down  upon  the  chaotic  scene ;  here 
and  there  the  slight  cover  burst,  volcanoes  rose,  continents 


Plant-Mummies. 


235 


greeted  first  the  light  of  heaven,  and  islands  sank,  to  l)e 
seen  no  more.  All  the  powers  of  nature  were  unchained ; 
the  earth  was  one  vast  battle  field,  on  which  the  elements 
fought  for  the  empire  of  the  world.  It  was  in  those  hours 
of  gigantic  strife,  and,  amidst  the  thousand  thunders  of 
a  quaking  earth  and  a  threatening  heaven,  that  huge  forests 
were  buried  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth,  to  wait  in  patience 
for  the  day  of  their  resurrection. 

Upon  the  first  islands  that  rose  out  of  the  gurgling, 
struggling  waters,  when  land  and  water  were  parted  by 
the  Most  High,  there  grew  forests  of  gigantic  forms,  of 
horse-tails  and  club-mosses,  full  of  beauty  and  luxuriant 
vigor,  but  they  bloomed  and  blossomed  not.  Sigillaria 
gently  waved  their  lofty  crowns  on  their  slender  curiously 
marked  trunks.  In  the  pride  of  their  grandeur,  rising  high 
above  the  lowly  bushes  around  them,  they  ranged  them- 
selves in  copses  and  forests.  Parasite  ferns  fluttered  in 
the  restless  winds,  like  green  pennants,  from  column-shaped, 
gigantic  canes,  whilst  gentler  breezes  whispered  sweet  se- 
crets to  the  graceful  rushes  along  the  banks  of  intermin- 
able marshes,  and  stigmarias  painted  the  quiet  surface  of 
peaceful  inlets,  with  the  beauteous  image  of  their  graceful 
foliage.  Algse  and  mosses  grew  in  pleasing  forms  on  rock 
and  stone,  and  struck  their  tiny  roots  deep  into  cleft  and 
fissure. 

Where  now  Spitzbergen  and  Greenland,  Melville  and 
Bear  Islands  rise  in  the  splendor  of  eternal  snow  and  ice, 
tall  grasses  were  then  rocking  and  dreaming  of  the  won- 
drous time  that  would  come  when  Man  should  be  born 
after  the  image  of  God.    Trees,  high  and  strong,  bushes 


236  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

of  strange,  fantastic  shapes,  unbounded  forests  of  colossal 
reeds  and  flags,  overshadowed  the  shores  of  the  dark  ocean, 
encircled  with  dense  night,  large,  ever-silent  marshes,  and 
crowned  in  graceful  groups  the  table-lands  of  these  islands. 
But  silence  brooded  over  them  all.  As  no  flower  ever 
graced  their  lofty  columns,  so  no  bird  ever  sang  in  their 
branches,  no  deer  ever  rested  in  peace  under  their  shadow. 
The  sea  alone,  the  great  sea,  had  its  life.  Here  the  huge, 
flat  head  of  a  monstrous  lizard  rose  heavily  from  under 
the  roots  of  a  mighty  fern;  there  a  shark  of  unmeasured 
dimensions  shot,  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  through  the 
turbid  flood  ;  polypi,  snails  of  quaint  shape,  and  muscles 
resplendent  in  brightest  colors,  crowded  the  shallow  estu- 
aries. A  thousand  curious  forms,  no  longer  found  upon 
earth,  peopled  the  silent  waters,  and  generation  after  gen- 
eration passed  away,  unseen  by  man  and  unknown  for 
countless  ages  to  come. 

They  rose,  they  lived,  and  they  died  in  utter  silence  and 
darkness.  They  returned  dust  to  dust,  or  they  sank  into 
the  bottomless  ocean.  Now  the  fary  of  fiery  volcanoes 
would  bury  whole  forests  under  masses  of  burning  por- 
phyry and  basalt — then  the  sea  itself  would  rise  in  solemn 
majesty,  and,  racing  upwards,  fall  upon  ancient  woods, 
breaking  down  young  and  old,  high  and  low,  and  leaving 
behind  it  but  one  vast  mass  of  sand  and  stone,  under 
which  it  had  hid  all  their  glorious  beauty.  Where  neither 
fire  nor  water  came,  with  giants'  power,  to  destroy,  the 
huge  ferns  died  a  slow  and  silent  death.  One  by  one 
they  would  sink,  weary  of  life  and  worn  out  by  the  fierce 
storm  all  around  them,  until  gentle  rains  came,  and  with 


Plant-Mummies. 


287 


tender  sympathy,  spread  a  pall  of  white  sand  and  bright 
colored  stones  over  their  buried  bodies.  A  new  race 
sprang  up  from  the  exuberant  bosom  of  nature ;  it  also 
was  laid  low,  and  buried  under  massive  rocks  and  green 
turf^  and  a  new  forest  rose,  phoenix  like,  from  its  ashes. 
And  again  and  again  the  furious  tempest  swept  along, 
and  covered  them  with  dense  layers  of  sand,  or  heaped 
rocks  over  their  grave,  as  if  he  w^ould  fain  have  silenced 
forever  the  revengeful,  whisper  of  antediluvian  forests. 
There  are  places  on  earth,  where  one  hundred  and  fifty 
of  such  succesf've  generations  may  distinctly  be  counted! 

But  tenderly  as  nature  had  covered  their  dead  bodies, 
still  their  race  was  not  yet  run,  their  purpose  but  half 
fulfilled.  Tree  by  tree,  and  herb  by  herb,  they  lay  peace- 
fully in  their  grave.  The  storm  sighed  no  longer  in  their 
branches,  the  upheaving  earth  shook  not  their  lofty  trunks. 
Warmly  imbedded  they  slept  in  their  quiet  chambers. 
Thousands  of  years  passed,  and  their  rest  was  unbroken, 
their  very  existence  unknown.  No  human  eye  had  seen 
them  in  their  prime ;  they  had  died  and  sunk  into  their 
grave  long  before  man  dwelt  in  the  world.  But  now, 
after  centuries,  man  came  and  made  his  way  through  vast 
layers  of  clay  and  firm  strata  of  rock ;  he  descended  into 
the  deep  of  the  earth,  to  exhume  the  huge  forests  that 
had  lain  there  buried  since  the  days  of  creation.  He 
brought  them  forth,  the  corpses  of  long  forgotten  plants, 
to  the  light  of  a  sun  they  had  never  seen  before ;  he 
made  their  remains  to  work  for  him — his  busiest  servants, 
his  most  efficient  slaves.    It  wa3  thus  that  the  ruins  of 


238  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

the  past  became  the  masters  of  the  present.  These  flow- 
erless  fu'stlings  of  creation  were  made  to  rule  and  con- 
trol, at  the  bidding  of  the  children  of  this  day,  wind  and 
water,  space  and  time.  The  light  of  earliest  ages,  safely 
buried  in  the  bosom  of  our  mother  earth,  w^as  called  to 
life  once  more,  and  made  to  shine  bright  and  brilliant 
over  land  and  sea. 

In  the  lofty  mountains  of  Peru,  man  found  the  black, 
shining  mummies ;  far  from  under  the  ocean's  bed,  he 
brought  to  light  the  same  mysterious  plants,  the  same 
gigantic  fern-trees.  A  new  book  was  opened  to  him;  the 
coal-fields  of  the  earth  became  chronicles  of  ages  unknown 
to  history  or  tradition.  Leaf  after  leaf  was  unfolded,  and 
not  a  letter  was  found  to  be  effaced.  Whatever  had  had 
life  upon  land  or  in  water,  was  carefully  preserved,  in 
image  or  substance,  in  the  long  hidden  treasury.  Not  a 
plant  was  missing,  not  a  leaf  was  wanting  to  rebuild  the 
wondrous  world  of  earliest  ages.  The  dark  night  of  deep 
mines  unfolded  an  incredible  richness  and  splendor  of  ve- 
getable forms.  As  if  with  gorgeous  tapestry,  their  walls 
and  ceiling  were  found  covered  with  graceful  garlands  of 
unknown  creepers.  The  rich  tracery  of  delicate  leaves  and 
tendrils  is  marked  in  deep  black  on  the  lighter  surface 
of  the  surrounding  rock.  Lofty  trees  stand,  as  they  stood 
countless  ages  ago,  in  all  the  luxury  of  their  massive 
trunks,  their  wide  spreading  branches  and  beautiful  foliage. 
Fossil  trunks  have  been  found,  whose  year-rings  told  of 
an  age  of  more  than  eight  centuries!  Palms  and  tropical 
trees  alternate  with  the  pines  and  poplars  of  northern 


Plant-Mummies. 


239 


regions ;  and  there,  too,  sleeps  the  animal  world  of  those 
days.  Here  is  the  big  lizard,  not  one  of  her  tiny  scales 
wanting ;  there  is  the  colossal  shark,  in  all  his  huge  dimen- 
sions. They  are  all  there,  every  plant  and  every  animal, 
uninjured  by  the  unsparing  tooth  of  time.  Not  a  line 
is  effaced,  not  a  letter  is  illegible  in  this  great  book  of 
nature. 

Man  soon  determined  to  employ  the  new  power  thus 
granted  him  ;  but,  although  Marco  Polo  tells  us  that  the 
Chinese  used  coals  as  far  back  as  his  own  time  (1270) 
Europe  did  not  employ  them  until  about  a  hundred  years 
ago.  Then,  however,  began  the  reign  of  the  new  agent 
in  man's  rule  over  the  earth,  and  the  strange  spectacle 
is  presented  in  some  places,  that  the  mummies  of  long- 
forgotten  trees,  reared  in  regions  once  tropical,  but  now 
ice-bound,  must  serve  to  warm  the  houses  of  men  and 
to  force  tropical  fruits  in  northern  climates.  Now,  coal 
as  fuel,  drives  the  railway  train  and  the  steamer ;  it  works 
in  every  factory,  it  burns  on  every  hearth ;  it  is  to  Eng- 
land more  precious  than  gold  and  costly  jewels. 

Its  gases,  the  terror  of  the  poor  miner  who  but  too 
often  falls  a  victim  of  the  terrible  "fire-damps,"  have  been 
changed  from  a  death-bringing  enemy  into  a  most  useful 
servant.  To  drive  them  out  fro?n  the  mines,  they  were 
at  first  conveyed  in  tubes  to  the  outer  air.  By  accident 
it  was  found  that  they  could  ignite,  and  from  this  simple 
attempt  to  effect  an  escape  for  a  nuisance,  man  derived 
the  light  which  now  rivals  the  noonday-brightness,  and  gives 
peace  and  security  even  to  overgrown  cities. 


240 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


All  this,  and  much  more,  we  owe  to  the  long  buried 
mummies  of  plants  that  lived,  we  know  not  how  many 
ages  ago.  Truly,  we  see,  as  yet,  but  "as  if  in  a  glass, 
darkly,"  and  His  wondrous  works  are  hidden  to  our  dim 
eyes. 


Unknown  Tongues. 


241 


VIII. 

**  All  the  earth  shall  sing  unto  Thee ;  they  shall  sing  to  Thy  name." 

TT  was  a  dark  and  dismal  night  when  the  brave  Almeida's 
ship  stood  off  and  on  the  coast  of  the  fragrant  island 
of  Ceylon.  With  a  stout  heart  and  a  bold  hand  he  had 
sailed  into  seas  unknown.  Day  after  day,  the  smooth, 
glassy  surface  had  shown  him  only  his  own  vessel's 
graceful  rigging  and  quietly  rocking  hulk,  until  famine 
began  to  shed  pallor  on  the  face  of  the  bravest  of  his  fol- 
lowers ;  and  his  own  proud  Portuguese  soul  felt  terrors 
creeping  over  it,  and  despair  even  menaced  life.  So  they 
prayed  to  their  saints  and  their  God,  and  He  heard  them. 
The  waves  curled  in  silvery  crests,  the  huge  sails  hailed 
the  coming  breeze,  and  at  last  the  sweetest  of  sweet  sounds 
on  the  wide  ocean,  the  gentle  wash  of  the  waters 
up  the  ship's  bow,  greeted  the  ear  of  the  anxious 
mariner.  x\t  night  dark  mountains  rose  on  the  far  hori- 
zon, and  "  Land !"  shouted  the  exulting  watch  from  the 
11 


242  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

mast-head.  And,  as  dusky  shadows  covered  the  sea,  fresh, 
sweet  odors  came  from  the  distant  island.  Bright  fires^ — 
oh,  how  welcome  a  sight ! — were  seen  rising ;  and  even  the 
voices  of  men  were  heard  in  strange,  unintelligible  accents. 
But  what  was  that  voice,  which,  all  of  a  sudden,  swelled 
on  the  air,  and  like  magic  filled  their  minds  with  unutter- 
able sorrow?  Now  it  seemed  to  rise  from  the  dark  depth 
by  their  side,  and  now  it  came  far  and  faint  as  from  a 
distant  w^orld.  At  one  moment,  it  broke  in  fierce,  fearful 
cries,  and  then  again  it  sank  to  such  melancholy  complain- 
ing that  anguish  seized  on  their  souls,  and  tears  trickled 
down  their  rugged  and  weather-beaten  faces.  They  crossed 
themselves  ;  they  fell  on  their  knees ;  and  even  their  fearless 
leader  implored  the  Lord  on  high,  to  spare  their  lives  and  to 
guard  their  souls  against  the  power  of  Satan  ! 

Often  were  those  deep,  mournful  sounds  heard  in  those 
distant  waters,  and  many  were  the  accounts  that  science 
and  superstition  gave  of  the  fearful  "Voice  of  the  Devil." 
Or  was  it,  as  some  fondly  believed,  even  in  our  own  age, 
the  mysterious  utterance  of  the  Spirit  of  Nature,  dwelling 
in  our  globe  and  in  all  the  vast  realms  of  creation  ?  Later 
days  brought  other  explanations.  There  were  enormous 
gullies  there,  it  was  said,  and  narrow  passes  cut  through  the 
gigantic  mountains,  so  that  the  rushing  of  winds  and  the 
roaring  of  waters,  played  on  as  an  iEolian  harp  of  colossal 
size. 

Our  day  has,  at  last,  torn  the  veil  of  superstition  and  fancy, 
and  replaced  a  tale  of  impossible  wonders  by  facts  of  even 
more  marvellous  beauty.  "There  lives,  near  the  shores  of 
Ceylon,  a  large  and  most  gorgeous  shellfish.    And  when  the 


Unknown  Tongues. 


243 


light  of  the  moon  rests  dreaming  on  the  bosom  of  the  ocean, 
and  gentle  breezes,  laden  with  fragrance,  come  cooling  and 
calming  from  distant  homes,  it  opens  its  bright-colored  lips, 
and  pours  forth  its  mild,  melancholy  music,  that  the  breakers 
on  shore  are  heard  no  lons^er,  and  the  heart  of  man  is 
moved. 

It  was  surely  not  said  in  vain,  nor  was  it  a  mere  figure  of 
speech,  when  the  Psalmist  exclaimed:  "All  thy  works 
praise  thee,  oh  Lord  !"  Tor  all  creation  unites  in  the  vast 
hymn  of  praise  that  daily  rises  to  His  throne  on  high.  The 
morning  stars  ever  sing  in  the  heavens,  the  mountains  echo 
back  the  voice  of  thunders  :  the  earthquake  replies  to  the 
roar  of  the  tempest;  and  even  the  tiny  insect,  in  its  mazy 
dance,  adds  a  feeble  note  that  is  heard  by  Him. 

Thus  we  have  a  thousand  voices  around  us,  sending  up 
their  great,  never-ceasing  anthem.  But  proud  man  has  little 
heeded,  heretofore,  the  countless  accents  of  nature.  Infant 
nations  hear  them  and  comprehend  them  not;  the  higher 
races  listen  to  their  own  words  only,  and  their  ear  is  closed 
to  the  humbler  voices  around  them.  Thus  they  are  truly 
Unknown  Tongues.  Quite  recent  researches,  however,  have 
thrown  some  faint  light  on  this  strange  and  attractive  province 
of  knowledge. 

As  the  unfortunate  child,  that  is  born  deaf,  can  neither 
hear  the  sweet  voice  of  its  mother,  nor  learn  the  mystery  of 
language,  so  animals  also  cannot  have  speech  unless  they 
have  hearing.  For  ages,  all  the  lower  tribes  were  curtly 
classed  among  dumb  creation.  Mollusks,  it  was  said,  had 
neither  eyes  nor  ears,  the  cuttlefish  only  excepted ;  their  life 
was  a  mere  dream ;  they  were  doomed  to  eternal  silence. 


1 


244  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

Now,  we  have  learned  to  admire  the  beautiful  structure  of 
their  eyes ;  now  we  know  that  they  hear,  and  with  an  ear 
not  only  open  to  sounds,  but  able  to  distinguish  the  depth 
and  volume  of  voices.  In  some  shellfish,  the  ear  is  a  marvel 
of  beauty ;  and  even  the  lowest  have  at  least  one  or  more 
tiny  chambers,  in  which  to  catch  the  faintest  sound,  and 
a  special  nerve  to  carry  it  to  their  imperfect  mind.  A 
thunder-clap  frightens  the  lobster  to  death ;  and  the  pirates 
of  the  north  used  to  threaten  the  fishermen  with  the  firing 
of  a  gun,  which  would  kill  their  rich  freight  in  a  moment 
and  render  it  unfit  for  market. 

Locusts  hear  each  other,  for  their  strange  call  invites  the 
female,  and  is  always  accepted.  Ants,  also,  are  not  devoid 
of  such  a  sense.  When  the  termites  are  busy  building  their 
gigantic  houses,  watchmen  are  seen  to  stand  from  distance  to 
distance.  Every  two  minutes,  with  truly  marvellous  ap- 
preciation of  time,  they  strike  their  tiny  tongue  against  the 
hollow  wall.  Instantly  a  loud  hissing  is  heard,  uttered  by 
the  laborers  all  over  the  vast  building ;  and,  with  double 
zeal  and  renewed  vigor,  they  work  in  passage  and  chamber. 
The  proud  soldier-sentinel  looks  carefully  around,  to  see 
that  all  are  duly  employed,  waits  his  appointed  time,  and 
then  repeats  the  curious  warning.  Bees  are  lovers  of 
music,  and  know  the  voice  of  man.  Huber,  who,  though 
blind,  knew  the  strange  people  better  than  we  who  have 
eyes,  tells  us  how  they  listen  to  the  command  of  the  "  bee- 
father,"  and  follow  him  wherever  he  calls  them.  This 
fjict  is  well  known  in  the  East,  where  the  owner  draws 
them  thus  from  their  hives  into  the  fields,  and  leads  them 
back  again  by  a  hiss  or  a  whistle.    Hence,  "it  shall  come 


NKNOWN  Tongues. 


245 


to  pass,  that  the  Lord  shall  hiss  for  the  fly  and  for  the  bee 
that  is  in  the  land  of  Assyria." 

How  easily  spiders  are  made  to  know  the  voice  of  their 
master,  is  flimiliar  to  all,  from  many  a  sad  prisoner's  tale. 
When  the  great  and  brilliant  Lauzun  was  held  in  captivity, 
his  only  joy  and  comfort  was  a  friendly  spider.  She  came 
at  his  call ;  she  tool<:  her  food  from  his  finger,  and  well  un- 
derstood his  word  of  command.  In  vain  did  jailors  and 
soldiers  try  to  deceive  his  tiny  companion.  She  would  not 
obey  their  voices,  and  refused  the  tempting  bait  from  their 
hand.  Here,  then,  was  an  ear  not  only,  but  a  keen  power 
of  distinction.  The  despised  little  animal  listened  with 
sweet  affection,  and  knew  how  to  discriminate  between  not 
unsimilar  tones !  So  it  was  with  the  friend  of  the  pat- 
riot, Quatremere  d'ljonville,  who  paid,  with  captivity,  for 
the  too  ardent  love  of  his  country.  He  also  had  tamed 
spiders,  and  taught  them  to  come  at  his  call.  But  the 
little  creatures  were  not  only  useful  to  him,  but  to  the 
nation  to  .which  he  belonged.  For,  when  the  French 
invaded  Holland,  the  prisoner  managed  to  send  them  a 
message  that  the  inundated  and  now  impassable  country 
would  soon  be  frozen  over  so  that  they  would  be  able 
to  march  over  the  ice-bridged  swamps  and  lakes,  though 
spiders,  true  barometers  as  they  are,  had  taught  him  to 
read,  in  their  queer  habits,  the  signs  of  approaching 
weather.  The  frost  came,  and  with  it  the  French ;  Hol- 
land was  taken  and  the  lucky  prophet  set  free.  The 
spiders,  alas !  were  forgotten. 

Even  the  "hateful  toad"  has  been  the  captive's  friend 
and  companion,  and  shown  itself  endowed  with  a  fine  ear 


246  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

and  remarkable  talents.  They  come  out  of  the  dark 
night  of  their  holes,  when  their  self-chosen  master's  voice 
is  heard.  They  take  flies  from  his  hand;  but,  what  is 
the  strangest  of  all,  they  actually  learn  to  measure  time; 
for  more  than  one  well-authenticated  instance  speaks  of 
their  having  appeared  only  at  stated  times,  when  the 
jailor  was  absent  and  all  was  safe. 

Vile,  venomous  serpents  and  their  kin  have  an  ear  as 
subtle  as  their  tongue,  and  show  a  curious  love  of  sweet 
melodies  and  gentle  words  of  affection.  The  hooded 
snake,  as  many  of  us  have  seen  in  the  East  Indies,  is 
fierce  and  furious,  when  first  captured.  But  the  so-called 
conjuror  rouses  h«r  wrath  still  more  by  blows  and  threats ; 
the  next  moment,  however,  the  blandest  words  woo  and 
win  her  heart,  and  weave  a  charm  which  even  the  crafty 
snake  cannot  resist.  Anon  he  raises  his  hand  as  if  to 
strike ;  she  follows  it  with  wistful  eye  and  playing  tongue. 
It  is  a  sight  of  strange,  irresistible  beauty,  this  combat 
between  man  and  serpent.  Each  watches  with  intense 
attention — the  dusky  Indian  ready  to  strike  with  brutal 
force,  the  cunning  reptile  waving  in  graceful  curves,  rais- 
ing the  strange  spectacle-mark  that  surrounds  her  glitter- 
ing eyes,  and  gathering  venom  for  the  fatal  bite.  But 
man  remains  the  master.  Now  with  soothing  words,  and 
now  with  soft  caresses,  he  tames  her  fierce  temper.  Then 
he  calls  in  the  aid  of  music,  and  soon  the  animal  raises 
her  head  as  if  in  a  rapture  of  enjoyment,  and  in  a  short 
time  learns  to  weave  quick  mazes  in  the  air,  to  twist 
and  twine  in  most  beauteous  lines,  and  follow  the  master's 
hand  wherever  it  bids  her.    Pliny  tells  us  of  sons  of  the 


Unknown  Tongues. 


247 


African  desert,  who,  with  their  eyes'  glances  alone,  could 
rule  over  serpents.  That  race  of  men  is  lost ;  but  many 
a  Nubian  may  be  seen  at  the  upper  falls  of  the  Nile,  who 
can  imitate,  with  surprising  precision,  the  call  of  the  rep- 
tiles, and  tempt  them  to  come  forth  from  every  corner 
and  crevice. 

Vipers,  also,  and  adders,  are  neither  deaf  nor  dumb, 
and  cannot  help  listening  to  the  voice  of  temptation. 
They  were,  it  is  well  known,  formerly  much  used  in  medi- 
cine; and  the  precious  theriak,  known  even  at  the  time 
of  Nero,  and  still  manufactured  in  Venice,  Holland,  and 
France,  consists  mainly  of  the  flesh  of  vipers.  So,  poor, 
persecuted  animals,  they  are  caught  in  all  countries,  and — 
who  would  have  thought  if? — almost  always  by  means 
of  their  acute  hearing.  In  Italy,  grim,  swarthy  men,  of 
gipsy  cast,  are  seen  to  stand  in  the  centre  of  large  hoops, 
and  then  to  indulge  in  strange,  fanciful  whistlings.  After 
a  while,  an  adder  is  seen  gently  to  glide  up ;  another, 
and  still  another,  appears,  no  one  knows  whence ;  and  all 
gazing  with  glittering  eye  at  the  quaint  musician,  raise 
their  spotted  bodies  up  against  the  magic  hoop.  The  de- 
ceiver takes  them,  one  by  one,  with  a  pair  of  tongs,  and 
thrusts  them  into  a  bag  that  hangs  on  his  shoulder.  The 
poor,  deluded  vipers  are  then  carried  to  town,  and  kept 
by  druggist  and  doctor,  or  sent  in  boxes,  filled  with  saw- 
dust, alive  all  over  the  world.  The  French,  of  all  nations 
on  earth  the  most  cruel  to  animals,  have  a  still  more 
wicked  way  of  catching  adders.  They  take  the  first  they 
obtain,  or  any  other  snake  they  can  seize  upon,  and, 
throwing  it  into  a  kettle  of  boiling  oil,  there   roast  it 


248 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


alive.  The  fearful  hissing  of  the  tortured  creature  is 
heard  by  its  kindred ;  they  come  from  under  sunny  banks, 
from  the  low  furze  and  scrubby  bramble  bushes,  and  as 
they  approach  they  are  eagerly  seized  with  hands  defended 
by  leather  gloves.  Some  have  said — men  of  Maine,  we 
surmise — that  it  serves  them  right,  because  they  are  very 
intemperate  reptiles.  Naturalists — wine-bibbers  themselves 
— have  placed  vessels  filled  with  wine  under  hedges  and 
near  piles  of  stones ;  the  thirsty  vipers  come  from  all 
sides,  and,  soon  getting  drunk,  fall  into  the  hands  of  their 
captors. 

Fish  have  no  visible  ear,  it  is  said,  and  no  external 
avenue  for  sounds  from  a  distance.  Still,  they  hear  with 
great  acuteness.  On  the  continent  of  Europe,  few  castles 
and  villas  are  without  the  favorite  pond,  and  its  broad- 
backed  carp  and  speckled  trout.  They  all  learn  to  obey 
the  ringing  of  a  bell,  and  come  in  eager  haste  to  seize 
the  morsels  that  young  and  old  are  fond  of  seeing  them 
catch.  Lacepede  even  speaks  of  some  carps  of  venerable 
age  that  were  kept  in  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries  for 
more  than  a  hundred  years.  They  would  come  not  only 
at  the  usual  signal,  but  actually  knew  the  names  that 
were  given  them,  and  rose  to  the  surface  as  they  were 
called.  They  were,  however,  haughty  and  proud,  for  they 
listened  only  to  those  they  loved,  and  in  vain  were  sweet 
words,  in  vain  even  tempting  morsels,  offered  by  stran- 
gers. The  royal  pensioners  disdained  to  receive  alms ; 
they  took  only  the  crumbs  that  fell  from  the  table  of 
their  master,  the  monarch.  But  even  plebeians  among 
fishes  hear ;  and  it  is  not  the  fastidious  carp  only  that 


UNKNOWN  Tongues. 


249 


cannot  bear  the  grating  sound  of  sawmills,  and  has  his 
nerves  shaken  by  the  firing  of  guns.  Sturgeons  also  are 
frightened  by  loud  cries,  and  thus  driven  into  the  fisher- 
man's net;  and  the  bleak-fish  detests  a  drum  so  that  he 
rather  surrenders  than  endure  its  abominable  rolling. 
An  Italian  has,  of  late,  proved  in  a  brilliant  manner,  that 
fishes  can  not  only  hear,  but  actually  obey  and  execute 
orders,  that,  in  fact,  they  show  m.uch  higher  endowments 
than  they  have  heretofore  been  thought  to  possess.  IJe 
has  tamed  a  variety  of  fishes,  from  the  humble  tench  to 
the  gorgeous  goldfish  of  China,  and  as  he  bids  them,  they 
come  and  go,  they  rise  or  sink,  and  display  their  rich, 
ever-changing  colors.  Nay,  they  perform  a  miniature  dra- 
ma :  a  pike  seizes  a  trout,  and  lets  it  go  or  brings  it  up 
to  the  surface,  as  the  master  commands  with  his  voice. 

It  needs  no  proof  to  establish  the  hearing  of  higher  an- 
imals; but  even  the  low^est  among  them,  and  those  that 
are  almost  mute,  show  their  appreciation  of  sounds  when 
carefully  watched.  The  shapeless  hedgehog,  when  tamed, 
will  uncoil  at  the  word  of  his  owner,  and  the  grotesque 
seal  raises  its  uncouth  head,  with  such  beautiful  eyes,  high 
out  of  the  water,  to  listen  to  music  on  shore.  It  loves 
to  hear  gentle  voices,  and  is  grateful  for  kind  words.  Of 
all  things  else,  they  bind  it  firmest  to  its  master,  and  call 
forth  its  warmest  affections.  The  tiny  mouse,  that  finds  a 
home  in  the  hut  of  the  Alpine  herdsman,  becomes  there 
so  tame,  that  it  points  its  silky  ears  and  approaches  at 
the  whistle  of  the  Senner,  when  at  night  he  returns  to 
his  meal  and  his  rest.  Even  with  us,  it  has  been  known 
to  come  timidly  out  of  its  corner,  to  listen  to  a  song. 
It* 


250  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

The  ancients  say  much  of  the  delight  with  which  the 
grazing  herd  listens  to  the  flute  of  the  shepherd.  The 
Swiss,  on  his  meadows  and  Alps,  also  knows  full  well  how 
exquisite  is  the  ear  of  his  magnificent  cattle.  There,  in 
far  greater  freedom  than  in  the  narrow  valley  below,  in 
the  pure,  bracing  air  of  lofty  mountains,  with  a  clear, 
blue  sky  above,  and  rich,  fragrant  pasture  around  them, 
all  their  senses  are  sharper,  all  their  instincts  more  fully 
developed.  The  leading  cow,  with  the  largest  of  bells, 
is  not  unconscious  of  her  honor  and  station.  She  shows 
it  in  her  more  stately  gait,  she  affects  a  proud  and  haughty 
carriage.  Woe  to  the  bold  intruder  who  should  dare  to 
precede  her !  But  woe  also  to  the  wanderer  from  another 
herd!  She  knows,  and  they  all  know,  in  an  instant,  the 
tone  of  a  bell  that  belongs  not  to  their  set ;  and,  with 
eager  curiosity,  often  with  savage  hatred,  they  run  to 
meet  the  stranger,  and  show  her  no  mercy.  But  oh !  the 
grief,  when  the  bell  is  taken  from  her!  As  upon  leav- 
ing the  stable  of  her  home,  or  her  o\^ti  favorite  pasture 
high  on  the  mountain,  so  when  she  has  to  part  with  her 
love  and  her  pride,  she  will  weep  bitter  tears ;  and  many 
are  the  instances  of  cows  that  have  died  when  deprived 
of  their  harmonious  ornament. 

Some  animals,  on  the  other  hand,  detest  certain  sounds. 
The  Sophist  Acteon,  in  his  seventeen  books  on  the  nature 
of  animals,  speaks  of  the  strong  aversion  Greek  wolves 
had  to  the  flute,  and  tells  the  oft-repeated  story  of  Phy- 
tochares,  the  musician,  who  saved  his  life  from  the  fangs 
of  a  hungry  pack  by  playing,  with  heroic  perseverance, 
on  that  instrument.    The  Far  West  of  our  own  day  has 


Unknown  Tongues. 


the  same  account,  only,  here  it  is  a  modern  "fiddle,"  and 
the  poor  owner  is  caught  in  a  cabin  surrounded  by  fierce 
wolves,  mad  from  starvation.  He  plays,  and  they  listen 
with  horror ;  he  rests  for  a  moment,  and  they  are  ready 
to  rush  upon  him.  High  on  a  rafter,  at  last,  sits  the  suf- 
ferer, playing  through  the  dark  hours  of  night.  String 
after  string  has  broken,  his  arm  is  tired,  his  hands  are 
benumbed.  But,  just  as  the  last  string  snaps,  as  his  hand 
sinks  powerless  at  his  side,  and,  with  exulting  yells  and 
glaring  eyes,  the  blood-thirsty  host  leap  upwards,  the  bright 
light  of  day  breaks  through  the  forest,  and  the  wolves, 
true  children  of  the  night,  flee  in  terror.  Even  the  fierce 
lion,  it  is  said,  cannot  bear  the  cock's  crowing,  and,  like 
the  great  Wallenstein,  dreads  it  more  than  all  things 
earthly.    Of  the  horse,  we  are  taught  that 

**At  the  shrill  trumpet's  sound  he  pricks  Ms  ear," 

and 

"At  the  clash  of  arms,  his  ear  afar 
Drinks  the  deep  sound  and  vibrates  to  the  war." 

Who  does  not  know  the  account  of  the  Libyan  mares, 
that  could  only  be  milked  when  tamed  by  soft  music, 
and  of  the  horses  of  the  Sybarites,  that  had  been  taught  to 
dance  after  pleasing  melodies,  and  then,  when  bearing 
their  masters  into  battle,  suddenly  heard,  in  the  enemy's 
ranks,  the  well-remembered  sounds,  and  instantly  set  to 
dancing  instead  of  fighting?  The  same  love  of  music 
has  been  more  harmlessly  employed  in  comparatively 
modern  times.  The  eccentric  Lord  Holland,  of  the  reign 
of  William  III.,  used  to  give  his  horses  a  weekly  concert 
in  a  covered  gallery,  specially  erected  for  the  purpose. 


252  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

He  maintained  that  it  cheered  their  hearts  and  improved 
their  temper,  and  an  eye-witness  says  that  they  seemed 
to  be  greatly  delighted  therewith. 

In  the  elephant  and  the  camel,  this  sense  is,  probably 
most  strikingly  developed.  Whole  books  have  been  writ- 
ten on  the  marvellous  talents  of  the  former,  and  wonders 
have  been  told  of  the  great  effect  that  music  has  on  his 
temper.  Sweet,  gentle  melodies  move  him  to  caresses; 
loud,  powerful  strains  rouse  his  passions  even  to  uncon- 
trollable fury.  The  camel  has  been  less  fortunate.  Still, 
it  is  never  beaten  by  its  owner,  whether  it  toils  panting 
through  the  deep,  hot  sand  of  the  desert,  or  shivers, 
sewed  up  in  blankets,  in  the  icy  regions  of  Siberia.  At 
home  it  is,  at  worst,  only  scolded ;  on  the  journey,  it  is 
controlled  by  words,  to  which  the  pressure  of  the  foot 
on  the  neck,  or  a  gentle  touch  with  a  rod,  only  serve  as 
accent  or  emphasis.  The  Arab,  a  true  lover  of  animal 
creation — the  pig  excepted — entertains  his  camel  with 
music,  with  songs,  and  with  fairy  tales.  Often  and  often 
they  may  be  seen,  travelling  in  the  dead  of  night,  gliding 
along  like  spectres  in  the  moonlight,  or  bearing  torches 
on  their  packs,  which  cast  strange  flickering  lights  on 
the  dismal  waste.  Their  heads  on  high,  their  long  necks 
balancing  slowly  to  and  fro,  they  move  carefully  and  yet 
swiftly,  sometimes  thousands  in  number.  Nothing  is  heard 
but  the  faint  rustling  of  the  sand,  as  it  grates  under  their 
soft  feet,  and  the  plaintive  sound  of  the  Arab's  voice.  He 
is  overpowered  by  weariness,  or  dreams  of  his  home  near 
bright  waters,  where  the  palm-tree  casts  a  cooling  shadow. 
The  camel  lags  and  lingers — it  stops.    Then  the  roused 


Unknown  Tongues. 


253 


Bedouin  draws  his  reed-pipe  from  the  folds  of  his  turban, 
and,  sharp  and  shrill,  its  notes  are  heard  far  into  the  sol- 
itude; while  the  camel  raises  its  ungainly  head,  and,  with 
enlivened  step  and  rapid  motion,  moves  forward  through 
the  desert. 

Birds  alone,  and  especially  singing  birds,  have  a  gen- 
uine ear  for  music.  As  the  eye  may  see,  and  yet  not 
be  able  to  distinguish  colors,  so  the  ear  of  most  animals 
hears,  but  cannot  discern  the  depth  and  volume  of  tone. 
But  birds  are  the  true  musicians  of  the  animal  kingdom. 
They  have,  what  many  men  lack,  a  genuine  talent  to  learn 
and  appreciate  musical  notes  and  melodies.  You  sing, 
and  they  will  repeat,  bar  after  bar ;  others  listen  with 
eager  attention  to  a  hand-organ,  and,  little  by  little,  learn 
whole  tunes ;  the  ablest  of  all  even  imitate  the  songs  and 
voices  of  others. 

Not  all  animals,  however,  that  have  an  ear,  can  speak. 
Language,  even  in  its  humblest  form,  is  a  gift  vouchsafed 
to  the  few  and  the  privileged.  Still,  animals  are  dumb 
only  in  a  general  way  ;  they  all  have,  at  least,  a  language 
of  instinct.  By  this  they  can  make  themselves  under- 
stood by  their  own  race  and  by  their  enemies.  Even 
the  lowest  among  them,  that  have  not  a  trace  of  lungs, 
must  have  some  gesture  to  convey  their  friendly  or  hos- 
tile meaning.  Poor  as  it  is,  no  doubt,  and  entirely  as  it 
escapes  our  eye,  this  language  suffices.  Animals  endowed 
with  horns,  teeth,  feet,  or  antennae,  speak  by  these  means; 
how  eloquent  is  the  dog  when  he  shows  his  teeth,  and 
how  sure  of  being  understood  the  ox,  when  he  lowers  his 
formidable  horns. 


254  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

Clearer  far,  though  still  only  in  gesture,  is  the  language 
of  others.  Their  eye  speaks  to  the  careful  observer,  as 
clearly  as  the  eye  of  man,  of  their  innermost  feelings ; 
their  whole  carriage,  the  play  of  their  features,  the  ges- 
tures of  their  limbs,  are  full  of  unmistakable  expression. 
Here,  as  in  man,  we  observe  a  beautiful  harmony  be- 
tween the  bodily  frame,  and  the  spirit  that  dwells  in  it. 
This  they  read,  unconscious  but  unerring,  in  others  also. 
The  dog,  taught  by  his  constant  intercourse  with  us,  sees 
in  our  mien  and  gesture,  at  once,  whether  he  pleases  or 
not ;  the  horse,  also,  can  learn  to  appreciate  a  frowning 
brow  or  a  kindly  face.  They  are  infallible  in  this,  per- 
fect as  in  all  that  comes  from  nature  directly.  Their  in- 
stinct never  errs,  as  the  infant's  pure  mind  judges  far 
more  correctly  than  the  troubled  mind  of  the  old  and 
experienced.  Even  the  wildest  of  carnivorous  beasts  per- 
ceive, by  these  means,  in  man  a  higher  spiritual  power. 
The  lion  reads  in  his  eye  the  consciousness  of  his  supe- 
riority, and  shrinks  frgm  it  with  shy  submission.  But  woe 
to  that  man  whose  heart  should  fail  him,  who  but  for  a 
moment  forgets  that  he  is  master  of  all  things  living  on 
earth !  The  lion,  at  once,  feels  himself  the  better  and 
stronger  of  the  two,  and  his  blood-thirsty  instinct  regains 
its  supremacy.  And  as  they  read  the  m.ysterious  language 
of  features,  so  they  express  it.  There  is  no  hypocrisy 
in  the  animal's  face.  It  would  be  a  sad  error,  indeed, 
to  fancy  that  there  was  nothing  to  read  in  look,  mien  and 
gesture  of  animals,  simply  because,  to  us,  it  is  an  unkno\vn 
tongue.  We  cannot  even  distinguish  individuals  of  our 
own  kind.    To  the  white  man  of  Europe,  all  blacks  look 


Unknown  Tongues. 


255 


alike,  and,  at  first  sight,  notiiing  strikes  the  inexperienced 
traveller  so  much  as  the  apparent  similarity  of  eastern 
nations.  Who  of  us  can  read  temper  or  health  in  the 
faces  of  a  thousand  sheep  ?  and,  yet,  the  shepherd  knows 
every  one  by  unfailing  signs,  and  is  struck,  at  a  glance, 
by  a  change  of  expression.  We  are  apt  to  forget,  besides, 
that  there  is  among  animals  no  disguise  of  features.  We 
all  know,  in  an  instant,  an  intelligent  dog  by  his  eye  and 
his  gestures.  Then,  our  face  is  smooth  and  tender  beyond 
all  parts  of  the  body,  that  of  animals  is  covered  with  hair, 
and,  although  we  may  see  a  dog  move  his  lips  to  a  smile, 
and  his  eye  most  plainly  shed  tears,  but  little  can  be  read 
in  his  dark,  hairy  countenance.  The  blood  may  come 
and  go  as  quickly  as  the  crimson  blush  on  our  cheek ; 
he  may  "  turn  up  his  nose,"  and  "  frown  with  indigna- 
tion" without  our  seeing  any  trace  of  it. 

Man's  superiority  in  this  language  is  great,  but  it  is 
artificial.  He  is  independent  of  the  body,  which  the  an- 
imal is  not.  Hunger  may  sorely  try  him,  and  anger 
devour  his  heart :  yet  he  can  suppress  every  sign  of  his 
want  and  his  passion.  On  the  other  hand,  he  can  exhibit 
feelings  which  are  not  there ;  the  actor  expresses  a  feigned 
condition  of  soul ;  the  courtier,  even,  represents  feelings  the 
very  opposite  of  those  that  actually  move  him. 

Still,  animals  even  may  develop  this  humblest  and  sim- 
plest language.  They  resemble  the  infant,  that,  in  early 
days,  learns  to  understand  the  mother's  loving  look,  that 
cries  for  food,  and  soon  smiles,  in  return  for  caresses,  or 
laughs  in  its  child-like  enjoyment.  There  is  little  but 
fierce  temper  in  the  mustang's  hairy  face — there  is  a  world 


256  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

of  feeling  in  the  thorough-bred' s  well-cut  countenance.  The 
cur  of  the  Turk  shrinks,  howling,  from  the  stern  glance 
of  man,  and  snarls  and  snaps  at  his  enemy — the  intelli- 
gent  spaniel  has  an  eye  beaming  with  affection,  and  speaks 
a  language  of  gestures  as  clear  and  distinct  as  that  of 
actors  in  pantomime.  Who  has  ever  forgotten  the  touch- 
ing tribute  paid  by  blind  Homer  to  the  faithful  dog  of 
Ulysses?  Forgotten  by  all  that  loved  and  served  him, 
disguised  by  the  great  Athene  herself,  he  returns  to  his 
home,  and  wanders,  unknown,  among  his  friends  and  his 
kindred.  But,  as  he  speaks  m  the  yard  to  Eumseus,  the 
lame  and  emaciated  friend  of  his  youth,  his  own  beloved 
Argus  hears  the  voice  of  his  master.  He  would  fain 
rise  and  greet  him,  as  of  old,  with  fondling  caresses  and 
eager  barking.  But  he  is  old  and  crippled,  he  can  but 
wag  his  tail,  and  tenderly  lick  the  hand  that  he  alone  has 
recognized.  And  as  his  master,  brushing  away  a  furtive 
tear,  enters  the  hall,  where  abundance  reigns  and  joyous 
voices  are  heard,  poor  Argus  lays  himself  down  and  dies 
of  immoderate  joy. 

Far  clearer,  of  course,  and  more  familiar  to  all,  is  the 
language  of  animals  uttered  in  sounds.  Yet  this,  also,  is, 
as  yet,  but  a  tribe  of  unknown  tongues.  We  are  so  apt 
to  watch  only  for  sounds  that  resemble  the  human  voice. 
We  look  for  a  phonetic  language,  which,  of  course,  is 
not  taught  among  animals  in  primary  schools  by  means 
of  primers  and  readers,  but  by  their  only  mother,  nature. 
We  forget,  that  when  first  we  enter  an  asylum  for  deaf 
mutes,  we  hardly  observe  the  imperceptible  signs  that  pass, 
with  amazing  rapidity,  from  hand  to  hand.    We  forget  the 


Unknown  Tongues. 


257 


terror  with  which  early  travellers  spoke  of  the  wondrous 
gestures  used  among  eastern  nations,  where  the  feasted 
guest  from  the  west  was  often  startled  to  find  that  a 
wave  of  the  hand,  which  had  passed  unnoticed  before  his 
eyes,  had  been  an  order  to  behead  an  offender.  And  yet 
we  ought,  in  our  day,  to  have  learned  to  think  most  hum- 
bly, indeed,  of  our  own  imperfect  senses.  Who  guessed 
that  there  was  a  world  of  suns  and  stars  in  the  heavens 
before  the  telescope  unfolded  its  wonders'?  Were  we  not 
all  startled  with  the  Brahmin,  whose  laws  forbid  him  to 
eat  animal  food,  and  to  whom  the  merciless  microscope 
revealed  in  his  cup  of  pure  water  a  host  of  living  be- 
ings? If  we  had  instruments  for  the  ear,  as  we  have 
for  the  eye,  who  knows  what  we  might  hear,  though  we 
should  never  reach  the  fabled  power  of  the  Eastern 
magician,  who  saw  "the  grass  grow  and  heard  the  fleas 
coughing."  But  we  might  surely  expect  to  learn  some 
of  these  now  utterly  unknown  tongues,  and  to  discover 
for  instance,  the  mysterious  language  which  ants  and  bees 
speak  to  each  other  with  their  antennae.  Observations  and 
study  would  soon  add  largely  to  our  stock  of  knowledge. 
We  have  all  noticed  how  still  and  silent  nature  appears, 
at  sultry  noon,  when  a  feeling  akin  to  awe  creeps  over  us, 
and  a  magic  slumber  seems  to  seize  and  enchain  whatever 
is  living.  But,  even  then,  there  remains  an  all-pervading 
sound,  a  restless  humming  and  fluttering,  close  to  the 
ground.  In  every  bush,  in  the  cracked  bark  of  trees,  and  in 
the  earth,  undermined  by  insects,  life  is  still  audible ;  voices 
are  still  heard,  low  and  faint,  perceived  only  by  the  watchful 
ear  and  the  reverent  mind  of  the  true  votary  of  nature. 


258  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

All  language  of  animals  must,  of  course,  be  limited  in 
a  two-fold  direction.  They  cannot  express  more  than  they 
feel  or  think  ;  hence  their  wants  only,  their  emotions  of 
joy  and  suffering,  are  thus  communicated  to  others.  They 
have  language,  but  not  speech.  That  is  man's  high  and 
heaven-born  endowment.  Then,  reptiles,  birds  and  mam- 
malia, alone,  have  the  power  of  vocal  utterance,  insects 
and  others  are  mere  instrumental  performers.  Of  the  vo- 
calists, again,  reptiles  produce  sounds  with  the  palate  only, 
snakes  excepted ;  mammalia  with  their  lips,  as  children 
do  when  they  begin  to  lisp ;  birds  alone  speak  with  their 
tongue  also,  and,  thus  enjoying  double  organs  of  utterance, 
possess  the  most  perfect  of  unknown  tongues. 

The  language  which  animals  speak,  by  means  of  friction, 
or  concussion,  is,  naturally,  the  least  known  of  all.  We 
see  the  eager  ant  rushing  homeward  to  tell  the  news  of 
an  invasion;  she  meets  a  friend,  their  antennae  touch  and 
play  with  each  other,  in  rapid  succession.  The  messenger 
returns,  the  latter  conveys  the  news  by  the  same  means 
to  others,  until  the  whole  army  is  informed.  Here  we 
see,  not  an  instinctive  feeling  of  dread,  but  a  clear,  un- 
doubted communication  of  facts.  So  among  bees :  the 
instant  the  queen  dies,  the  sad  event  is  made  known 
throughout  the  hive.  No  sound,  perceptible  to  human 
ear,  is  heard,  but  the  antenna  move  with  surprising  effect, 
and  as  the  result  of  a  clear  act  of  volition.  It  is  not  a 
sensation,  merely,  nor  an  instinctive  action,  but  it  has 
all  the  signs  of  special  purpose.  How  they  speak,  we 
know  not ;  this,  only,  is  certain,  that  their  language  is 


Unknown  Tongues. 


2o9 


not  like  that  of  the  deaf  and  dumb,  with  whom  signs 
represent  letters  or  words. 

The  cricket,  even,  is  not  without  its  note  of  utterance, 
and,  although  a  purely  mechanical  sound,  it  has  its 
sweetness  and  charm,  so  that  Milton  could  speak  of 
being 

"Far  from  all  resort  of  mirth 
Save  the  cricket  on  the  hearth." 

It  produces  a  loud,  clear  sound,  by  a  quick  vibration  of 
the  elastic  skin  between  its  wings ;  and  from  the  time 
when  the  Athenians  wore  the  golden  cicada  in  their  hair, 
to  our  days,  when  the  cricket  on  the  hearth  is  the  pro- 
verbial image  of  home  comfort,  its  simple  note  has  been 
dear  to  the  heart  of  man.  The  true  cricket,  however, 
speaks  only  in  the  sunny  time  of  love.  The  male  be- 
gins, in  his  hermit-cel],  as  May  approaches,  to  produce 
a  low,  inward  note  of  longing.  As  the  sun  rises  higher^ 
and  summer  advances,  his  shrill  song  becomes  louder, 
until  he  finds  the  desired  companion.  Then  he  returns 
to  his  solitary  life  once  more,  and  his  voice  dies  away 
by  degrees.  Dean  Swift  has  left  us  a  humorous  de- 
scription of  the  curious  note  of  the  death-watch  beetle. 
The  little  fellow,  in  his  narrow  cell,  falls  in  love ;  im- 
mediately, he  begins  to  thump  his  head  against  the 
ground,  and  uses  such  energy  in  his  demonstration  that 
he  leaves  deep  marks  in  the  softer  kinds  of  wood. 
The  powerful  stroke  produces  a  loud  sound,  the  infalli- 
ble presage  of  death  to  superstitious  man,  the  soft  mu- 
sic of  love  to  the  female  beetle.  If  other  males  are 
within  hearing,  they  all  join  in  the  concert  ^^th  furious 


260  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

knocking,  and  such  is  their  jealousy  or  their  zeal  to 
answer,  that  even  the  ticking  of  an  innocent  watch  ex- 
cites their  wrath  and  their  loudest  notes. 

The  bright  troops  of  virgin-moths  and  fresh-born  but- 
terflies, seem  to  speak  by  the  brilliancy  of  their  colors 
only,  and  thus  to  appeal  through  the  eye  to  the  heart 
of  their  beloved.  Darwin  tells  us,  however,  of  some  in 
South  America,  who,  when  a  pair  are  chasing  each  other, 
make  a  clicking  noise  that  is  heard  at  considerable  dis- 
tance. That  charming  traveller  found  they  had  a  kind 
of  drum  near  the  first  pair  of  wings,  by  which  they 
produced  this  noise  to  attract  the  female.  The  spinax, 
(atropos,)  clad  in  sad  colors,  and  quaintly  marked,  ac- 
tually utters  a  low  whine,  ,when  caught,  and  thus  pre- 
sents the  lowest  voice  of  suffering  known  in  the  animal 
kingdom. 

The  craw-fish,  also,  has  but  a  single  note  of  pain; 
when  drawn  on  shore,  it  utters  a  low,  angry  sound,  that 
seems  to  rise  from  the  innermost  parts  of  its  curious 
body.  Naturalists  speak,  besides,  of  a  gentle,  humming 
noise,  resembling  that  of  beetles,  which  it  makes  when 
enjoying  the  sun  and  its  genial  warmth;  it  ceases,  how- 
ever, the  instant  any  other  noise  is  heard,  and  has  thus 
been  but  rarely  observed. 

'•The  voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  the  land,"  but 
it  has  little  to  please  the  ear  or  to  attract  attention. 
Nor  are  fishes  better  endowed  in  point  of  language. 
They  have  a  thick,  immovable  tongue,  adhering  firmly 
to  the  lower  jaw.  A  voice  would,  however,  be  of  small 
avail  to  them  in  an  element  so  little  sonorous  as  wa- 


Unknown  Tongues. 


261 


ter.  A  German  enthusiast  tells  us,  it  is  true,  that  they 
speak  in  light,  saircely  perceptible  breathings ;  but  no 
one  else  ever  heard  them.  Still,  some  of  them  actually 
do  utter  noises  of  various  and  seldom  agreeable  nature. 
Tenches  have  a  croaking  sound,  which  is  heard  when 
they  are  caught,  and  as  long  as  they  are  living.  The 
armado,  of  South  America,  has  a  harsh,  grating  noise, 
which  it  utters  even  beneath  the  water,  and  others  pipe 
and  whistle  or  growl  and  grunt,  as  the  grunter  and  sea- 
scorpion.  The  drum-fish,  of  our  waters,  has  his  name 
from  the  skill  with  which  he  drums  on  his  own  inflated 
body.  It  is  heard  best  when  he  passes  under  a  vessel, 
and  poetical  mariners  have  compared  it  to  the  bass  notes 
of  an  organ,  the  ringing  of  a  deep-toned  bell,  or  the 
melancholy  sounds  of  an  iEolian  harp.  The  dolphins,  the 
great  favorites  of  antiquity,  were  said  to  love  music  even 
more  than  human  beings,  and  to  cry  in  pain  and  an- 
guish. Aristotle  tells  us  that  one  of  this  race,  caught 
and  wounded  near  Icaria,  cried  so  loud  and  bitterly,  that 
thousands  came  swimming  into  the  quiet  harbor.  The 
fishermen  gave  the  wounded  one  its  liberty,  and  then 
they  all  left,  expressing  their  joy  in  graceful  gambols  and 
endless  gyrations. 

Frogs  are  veritable  artists  and  masters  in  one  of  the 
unknown  tongues.  They  have  a  true  voice — not  the  re- 
sult of  mere  mechanical  action,  but  proceedmg  from  the 
lungs,  and  expressive  of  deep  feeling.  So,  at  least,  think 
the  Mahometans,  to  whom  they  are  sacred,  because  they 
proclaim  to  the  world  the  praises  of  Allah — and  even 
more  so,  because  of  their  marvellous  piety.     For,  when 


262  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

the  Chaldeans  had  captured  the  great  patriarch,  and 
thrown  him  into  the  fire,  to  be  burnt  unto  death,  hosts 
of  indignant  and  sympathizing  frogs  appeared  from  all 
sides,  and,  pouring  water  on  the  flames,  rescued  the  Holy 
Father.  Horace  detested  them,  in  common  w^ith  Italy's 
own  peculiar  plague;  they  disturbed  his  sleep  on  the 
famous  journey  to  Brindisi.  The  peasants  of  France,  too, 
pursued  them,  at  one  time,  with  almost  intense  hatred. 
No  wonder — for  they  were,  by  law,  compelled  to  beat, 
night  after  night,  the  water  in  moats  and  ditches  around 
the  nobleman's  castles,  that  the  croaking  of  frogs  might 
not  disturb  his  lordship's  slumbers!  Their  song,  we  fear, 
is  not  much  more  appreciated  in  our  day.  In  vain  do 
we  associate  it  with  the  return  of  spring,  the  sense  of 
genial  warmth  and  the  renewal  of  fuller  life  and  vigor. 
They  have  but  a  single  sound,  the  CT",  and  this  they  utter 
through  the  whole  diapason,  in  all  possible  height  and 
depth,  from  spring  until  autumn.  They  are  a  merry  set 
of  summer  beings.  Buried  in  deep  slumber  during  win- 
ter, the  first  rays  of  the  spring  sun  awake  them  to  life. 
At  first  lazy  and  silent,  they  revive  as  earth  and  water 
grow  warmer.  Beautifully  dressed  in  green  hunter's  garb, 
their  bright,  lively  eyes  set  in  golden  frames,  they  squat 
gravely  down  on  a  sunny  bank,  and,  opening  wide  their 
huge  mouths,  they  look  the  very  picture  of  homely  com- 
fort and  broad  humor.  The}''  have  no  lips,  and  have  the 
appearance  of  being  doomed  to  eternal  silence.  But  they 
know,  very  soon,  how  to  swell  their  wide  throats,  that 
shine  in  dark  nights,  and  to  puff  out  the  huge  cheeks 
with  their  enormous  air-bladders  inside.    How  lustily  the 


Unknown  Tongues. 


263 


males  call  out  their  classic  Brckekekex,  co-ax,  co-ax !  whilst 
the  females  only  hum  in  low,  humble  tones.  First,  the 
leader's  loud,  coarse  voice  breaks  forth  in  solemn  into- 
nation; then  the  others,  sitting  in  a  wide  circle  around 
him,  follow  in  long  responses;  and  at  last,  from  far  and 
near,  from  every  pond  and  every  puddle,  their  deep-toned 
voices  are  heard  in  one  mighty  chorus.  It  is  the  mere 
outbreak  of  joy  and  delight;  they  know  neither  melody 
nor  order.  Each  sings  as  he  likes  best,  at  his  own  time 
and  in  his  own  particular  key.  They  are,  apparently, 
vastly  amused  at  their  own  great  talkative  powers ;  for, 
every  now  and  then,  they  break  out  in  the  happiest  laugh- 
ter known  in  animal  creation.  Its  gusts  are  so  sudden, 
its  tones  so  boisterous  and  loud — a's  if  they  would  burst 
with  sheer  happiness  and  joy.  When  they  assemble  in 
large  numbers,  as  the  tree-frogs  love  to  do  in  Paramaibo, 
and  the  countless  hosts  of  common  frogs  on  the  banks 
of  the  Wolga  and  the  Caspian  Sea,  they  absolutely  drown 
every  other  noise.  There  millions  join  in  the  fearfully 
monotonous  concerts,  until  the  earth  trembles,  and  for 
miles  no  sound  is  heard  but  their  own  hoarse  croaking. 
Although  they  all  have  one  voice  for  the  concert  and 
another  for  family  matters,  their  note  is  nearly  the  same 
all  over  the  world — only  in  South  America,  we  are  told, 
a  tinier  frog  will  sit  on  a  blade  of  grass,  a  little  above 
the  surface  of  the  water,  and  utter  a  pleasing  chirp,  which 
joined  by  others,  has  the  effect  of  a  harmony  of  different 
notes.  The  bullfrog's  deep,  disproportionate  voice  has 
frightened  many  an  innocent  wanderer  from  Europe;  he 
seems  to  enjoy  the  sport,  too,  for  he  grows  the  louder 


2G4  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

the  surer  he  is  of  attention.  After  a  short,  happy  sum- 
mer, their  voices  gradually  weaken;  they  strip  off  their 
delicate  dress,  which  is  so  thin  that  it  looks  upon  paper 
like  a  faint  pencil-drawing ;  they  eat  it  with  apparent  de- 
light, and  soon  after  vanish  from  the  sight  of  man.  Si- 
lent and  benumbed,  they  sink  again  into  the  ground,  to 
pass  the  cold  season  in  quiet,  unbroken  slumber. 


A  Trip  to  the  Moon. 


265 


IX. 

%  Crf  to  t|e  W^om. 

The  moon  shines  white  and  silent  on  the  mist. 

On  the  mist,  which  like  a  tide 
Of  some  enchanted  ocean 

O'er  the  wide  marsh  doth  glide, 
Spreading  its  ghostlike  billows 

Silently  far  and  wide. 

A  vague  and  starry  mystic 

Makes  all  things  mysteries, 
And  moves  the  earth's  dumb  spirit 

Up  to  the  longing  skies. 

J.  E.  Lowell. 

npHE  huge  bell  of  the  cathedral  rang  out  midnight. 

Like  clear  crystal  drops  fell  the  transparent  notes 
from  the  bright  sl^y,  as  if  they  were  echoes  of  angels' 
voices.  Behind  the  dusky  mountains  rose  the  full  orb  of 
the  moon  in  golden  splendor,  and  poured  its  fairy  light 
over  the  vast  plain.  Faint  hazy  mists  swept  across  the 
valley,  and  slowly  the  pale  gossamer  light  sank  deeper 
into  the  dark  narrow  streets  of  the  city,  A  gigantic 
churchyard  the  silent  town  lay  at  the  feet  of  the  mys- 
12 


266 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


terious  globe  in  the  high  heavens — each  house  a  coffin  hi 
which  slept  a  thousand  joys  or  sorrows.  Only  through 
one  low  window  shone  the  feeble  glimmer  of  a  night- 
lamp.  A  mother  was  watching  her  sickly  babe;  fierce 
fever  glared  in  its  glowing  face  and  burning  eyes,  and 
restlessly  the  poor  child  tossed  from  side  to  side.  At 
last  it  grew  quiet,  and  seemed  to  slumber.  The  mother 
stepped  to  the  window,  and  looked  with  tearful  eye  up 
to  the  moon.  A  feeling  of  deepest  loneliness  chilled  her 
sinking  heart;  all  around  her  slept  ten  thousands  in  happy 
peace;  the  wicked  had  ceased  from  troubling  and  the 
weary  were  at  rest ;  she  alone  was  in  sorrow  and  watched 
with  anguish  the  flickering  life  of  her  beloved. 

"Oh,"  she  sighed,  "how  peaceful  and  happy  it  must  be 
up  there  in  the  silvery  light  of  the  moon !  There  is 
peace  in  her  pale  even  light,  quiet  happiness  in  her  calm, 
unbroken  pilgrimage  through  the  dark  blue  heavens!" 
And  she  wished  she  could  wander  in  her  sweet  meadows 
and  rest  by  her  still  waters.  She  prayed,  half  dreaming, 
half  awake,  that  her  soul  might,  hereafter,  be  allowed  to 
rest  from  the  pain  and  sorrow  of  earthly  life,  in  the  calm 
sweet  light  of  the  moon,  praising  God  and  enjoying  the 
peace  that  knows  no  end. 

For  so  we  dream,  even  in  our  day,  of  paradisiacal 
peace  and  mysterious  charms  in  the  moon;  as  thousands 
of  years  ago,  the  nations  of  the  earth  revered  in  her  a 
godlike  being,  who  lighted  up  the  long,  sad  nights  with 
her  sweet  silvery  light,  and  in  chaste  beauty,  wove  strange 
spells  over  the  hearts  of  men.  They  built  temples  iu 
honor  of  the  goddess,  priests  sang  her  praises  in  mighty 


A  Trip  to  the  Moon. 


•207 


anthems,  sacrifices  won  her  favor  and  disarmed  her  just 
wrath.  Lofty  were  her  thrones  in  the  far  East;  Asia 
and  the  world  worshipped  her,  and  great  was  the  Diana 
of  the  Ephesians  ! 

This  faith,  like  alas!  many  a  better  faith,  is  found  no 
longer  among  men.  Superstition,  alone,  has  remained. 
The  Chinese  beats  his  drums  and  gongs  to  keep  the  great 
dragon  from  swallowing  up  his  moon  at  the  time  of  an 
eclipse,  and  the  Wallachian  peasant  sees  in  her  pale,  faint 
glimmer  how  the  vampire  rises  from  his  brother's  grave. 
With  us  the  telescope  has  stripped  the  moon  of  her  di- 
vine attributes,  and  dry,  sober  calculations  have  torn  all 
strange  fancies  and  gay  charms  from  the  humble  satel- 
lite of  the  earth. 

Now  the  moon  is  simply  a  little  globe,  not  much  lar 
ger  than  America,  so  that  the  longest  journey,  that  could 
be  undertaken  there,  would  explore  Asia  from  end  to  end. 
We  can  easily  get  there,  for  she  is  only  about  two  hun 
dred  and  forty  thousand  miles  from  us,  a  mere  trifle  in 
<)omparison  with  the  distance  of  the  nearest  star.  Will 
you  accompany  us  ?  There  is  no  luggage  required,  for 
there  are  plenty  of  castles  in  the  air,  and  as  for  provisions, 
have  not  our  very  first  lessons  taught  us  the  precious  sub- 
stance of  which  the  moon  is  made?  Passengers  are  not 
expected  to  travel  v/ith  a  huge  telescope  under  the  arm, 
and  a  book  of  logarithms  in  their  hand.  We  leave  that  to 
the  munificent  Earl  of  Rosse,  who  compels  the  chaste  god- 
dess to  come  down  within  the  familiar  distance  of  three 
hundred  miles,  even  to  bold  Ireland !  We  have,  besides, 
cunning  astronomers,  who  m.arshal  with  ease  millions  of 


268 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


numbers,  and  command  the  poor  planets  to  appear  in 
given  places,  threatening  to  deny  their  identity,  if  they 
are  not  there  within  the  minute.  We  are  simple  travel- 
lers, and,  1  fear,  would  not  disdain  the  aid  of  a  beanstalk, 
if  we  thought  it  the  shortest  road  to  heaven. 

Once  on  the  moon,  however,  we  are  immediately  struck 
with  awe  and  wonder  at  the  strange  landscapes  that  we 
suspected  already  from  below,  even  with  unarmed  eyes, 
in  the  dark  and  light  spots  on  the  moon's  disc.  Now 
the  gray  portions  become  plains,  the  light  ones  mountains. 
That  these  brilliant  spots  are  mountains,  we  know  from 
their  shadows,  which  always  fall  on  the  side  opposite  the 
sun,  and  which  lengthen  in  precise  proportion  as  the  sun 
sinks  lower.  The  most  dazzling  points,  however,  are  not 
mountains  but  towering  precipices,  whose  steep,  smooth 
sides  reflect  the  light-  with  greatest  force. 

But  how  entirely  different  is  this  mountain  scenery  from 
that  of  the  Alps  or  the  Andes!  Here  we  see  no  lofty, 
snow-covered  peaks,  no  long,  pleasing  ridges  and  lovely 
valleys ;  not  even  the  proud  domes  of  the  Cordilleras 
with  their  steep  terraces  are  here  represented.  The  whole 
surface  of  the  moon  is  covered  wdth  circular  walls,  inclos- 
ing deep,  dark  caverns,  into  v/hich  whole  territories  have 
sunk  with  their  hills  and  mountains.  Some  of  these  huge 
abysses  are  more  than  fifty  miles  in  diameter,  others 
spread  still  wider,  but  all  are  engirt  at  the  top  by  great 
walls  of  rock,  which  are  serrated  and  often  crowned  by 
lofty  peaks.  The  smallest  and  most  regular  are  called 
craters,  from  their  resemblance  to  the  craters  of  the  earth, 
but  the  form  is  all  that  they  have  in  common.  Volca. 


A  Trip  to  the  Moon. 


2G9 


noes  the  moon  does  not  know,  and  the  shining  points  on 
her  night  side,  which  Herschel  loved  so  much  to  observe, 
are  only  the  highest  points  of  lofty  mountains,  resplendent 
in  brilliant  sunshine. 

On  the  southwestern  part  of  the  disc  we  see  one  of 
those  gigantic,  elevated  tablelands,  with  which  the  moon 
abounds.  They  are  evidently  the  oldest  formations,  fear- 
fully torn  and  tarnished  in  every  direction,  full  of  craters, 
fissures  and  fractures,  and  traversed  by  long  furrow-like 
valleys;  but  in  their  midst  we  see,  invariably,  a  most 
beautiful  variety  of  landscapes,  such  as  our  earth  boasts 
of :  groups  of  mountains,  broad,  vast  plains,  gently  swell- 
ing ridges,  and  fair  valleys,  dotted  with  numerous,  well- 
rounded  hills. 

By  their  side  we  notice  one  of  those  regular,  and  there- 
fore probably  more  recent,  circular  mountains,  of  which 
more  than  one  thousand  five  hundred  are  already  known, 
and  which,  in  some  parts  of  the  moon,  stand  so  closely 
packed  together,  as  to  give  to  these  regions  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  honeycomb.  Their  walls  are  nearly  all 
around  of  the  same  height;  within,  their  straight,  steep 
sides  sink  suddenly  into  the  abyss ;  without  they  fall  off 
more  gradually  in  terraces,  and  send  occasional  spurs 
into  the  surrounding  country.  In  the  centre  there  rises 
commonly  an  isolated  peak,  sometimes  merely  a  hum- 
ble hill,  at  other  times  a  lofty  mountain  or  even  a 
small  cluster  of  conical  eminences.  These  central  heights 
never  rise  to  a  level  with  the  circular  ranges;  some 
are  nearly  five  thousand  feet  high,  but  then  the  impass- 
able  wall,  that  surrounds  them  without  breach  or  pass, 


270 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature, 


and  shuts  them  off  from  the  rest  of  the  universe,  towers 
aloft  to  the  amazhig  height  of  seventeeu  thousand  feet ! 

If  the  number  of  these  circular  mountains  is  so  great, 
that  of  small,  burnt-out  craters  is  still  T.r.ore  astounding; 
even  a  moderately  powerful  telescope  shof.s  us  some  twen- 
ty thousand.  Inside  they  often  sink  to  an  \ncredible  depth, 
into  which  their  walls  cast  a  deep,  evr.rlasting  shadow ; 
here  there  reigns  entire  gloom,  which  th^-  l"^ht  of  the  sun, 
even  at  its  highest,  never  reaches.  Th-'ir  tops,  however, 
■when  fully  lighted  up  at  the  time  of  fuil  moon,  shine  in 
glorious  splendor,  reflecting  the  sun's  rays  with  dazzling 
lustre.  Others  show  only  their  margin  illuminated,  like 
a  delicate  ring  of  light,  forming  a  magic  circle  around 
the  dark,  yawning  crater.  Now  and  then  we  see  two  or 
more  strung  together  like  rows  of  pearls,  connected  with 
each  other  by  canals,  or  even  two  at  a  time  surrounded 
by  a  common  wall  and  combining  their  desolate  horrors. 

Continued  chains  of  mountains,  like  the  Alps  and  Andes 
of  our  mother  earth,  are  rare  in  the  moon,  and  even 
when  met  with,  only  short  and  without  spurs  or  valleys. 
The  longest  ridge  extends  about  four  hundred  and  fifty 
miles,  but  its  peaks  rise  to  the  prodigious  height  of 
seventeen  thousand  feet.  On  the  other  hand,  the  moon 
abounds  in  countless,  isolated  cones,  which  in  the  nor- 
thern half  group  themselves  into  long,  broad  belts. 
Like  the  thorns  of  a  chestnut,  thousands  of  these  moun- 
tains rise  suddenly  from  the  plain,  and  are  seen  to 
stretch  their  long,  gaunt  arms  from  the  outline  of  the 
moon's  disc  into  the  dark  sky.  Even  the  vast  plains 
of  our  little  neighbor  are  covered  with  long,  curiously 


A  Trip  to  the  Moon. 


271 


formed  ranges  of  low  hills,  which,  though  often  a  mile 
wide,  never  rise  beyond  a  thousand  feet,  and  therefore 
show  us  their  shadow  only  when  the  sun  is  extremely 
low. 

Much  as  these  strange  forms  differ  from  all  we  see  on 
earth,  we  are  still  more  struck  with  the  quaint,  mysterious 
fissures,  narrow  but  deep,  which  pass  in  almost  straight 
lines,  like  railways,  right  through  plain  and  mountain,  cut 
even  craters  in  two,  and  often  end  themselves  in  craters. 
At  full  moon  they  appear  to  us  as  lines  of  brilliant  light, 
at  other  times  as  black  threads,  and  must,  therefore,  have 
a  width  of  at  least  a  thousand  feet.  We  have,  on  earth, 
nothing  to  compare  with  them  ;  for  even  the  terrible  gul 
lies  which  cross  the  prairies  of  Texas,  dwindle  into  utter 
nothingness  by  the  side  of  these  gigantic  rents.  As  long 
as  men  saw  every  day  new  surprising  analogies  between 
the  moon  and  the  earth,  and  the  gray  spots  were  oceans, 
the  light  ones  continents,  these  inexplicable  lines  also  ap- 
peared now  as  rivers  and  now  as  canals,  or  even  as  beauti- 
fully Macadamized  turnpikes  !  The  citizens  of  the  moon 
can,  however,  hardly  yet  afford  building  roads  of  such 
gigantic  width,  by  water  or  by  land,  nor  will  the  fact, 
that  these  deep  furrows  cut  through  craters  and  lofty 
mountains,  and  invariably  preserve  the  same  level,  admit 
of  such  an  interpretation.  At  all  events  those  only  can 
see  canals  and  roads  on  the  moon,  who  have  already  found 
there  cities  and  fortified  places. 

What  gigantic  and  astounding  revolutions  must  have 
passed  over  the  moon,  to  produce  these  colossal  moun- 
tains, rising  not  unfrequently  to  a  height  of  twenty-six 


272  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

thousand  feet,  these  peculiar,  massive  rings,  these  enormous 
cliffs  and  furrows !  How  insignificant  appear,  in  compari- 
son, the  greatest  events  of  that  kind,  on  our  earth,  where 
even  proud  ^Etna  hardly  rivals  the  smallest  of  the  moon's 
craters!  Their  universal  tendency  to  round  forms  has 
led  to  the  idea  that  all  these  elevations  and  indentations 
are  the  effect  of  one  and  the  same  mysterious  power. 
Everything  favors  the  presumption,  that  the  moon  was 
originally  a  liquid  mass,  and  that,  whilst  it  became  solid, 
new  forces  were  unloosened  in  the  interior,  causing  gigantic 
eruptions,  as  when  the  pent-up  air  bubbles  up  from  a  mass 
of  molten  metal.  Some  of  these  bubbles  would  upon 
bursting,  naturally  leave  behind  a  circular  ridge  and  a 
slight  rise  in  the  centre  of  the  cavity.  These  forces  seem 
to  have  been  most  active  near  the  poles,  whose  desolate 
regions  are  dotted  over  with  countless  hills  and  moun- 
tains ;  near  the  equator  vast  plains  stretch  out,  broken 
only  here  and  there  by  a  lofty  peak  or  solitary  crater. 
Thus  man,  pigmy  man,  ventures  already  to  read  the  rid- 
dles of  mysterious  events  that  happened  in  the  earliest 
times  of  the  history  of  a  great  world,  which  his  foot  has 
never  yet  trodden!  He  has,  however,  not  only  measured 
the  mountains  of  the  moon,  and  laid  out  maps  and  charts 
of  her  surface,  but  he  has  given  names  to  mountains  and 
islands.  Formerly  the  most  renowned  philosophers  were 
thus  immortalized,  we  trust  without  any  insidious  com- 
parison between  philosophy  and  moonshine.  Of  late,  how- 
ever, dead  or  living  astronomers,  who  often  enjoyed  little 
enough  of  this  world's  goods,  have  been  presented  with 
large  estates  in  the  moon.    Thus  Kepler,  whom  the  great 


A  Trip  to  the  Moon. 


273 


emperor  and  the  empire  of  Germany  sufTured  to  starve, 
obtained  one  of  the  most  brilliant  mountains  for  his 
share;  and  Tycho,  Copernicus,  Hipparchus  and  Albateg- 
nius  are  his  neighbors  in  those  regions,  though  tolerably 
far  apart  on  earth,  in  point  of  time,  country,  and  relig- 
ion. Even  Humboldt  has  already  his  possessions  in  the 
moon. 

Nothing  strikes  the  general  observer  so  much,  when  his 
eye  rambles  inquiringly  over  the  surface  of  the  moon, 
as  the  incredible  variety  of  light  in  different  parts.  Some 
have  sought  the  cause  of  this  striking  phenomenon  in  the 
diversity  of  the  soil,  ascribing  to  the  darker  portions  a 
looser  earth,  and  perceiving  in  the  greenish  sheen  of  some 
plains  even  traces  of  vegetation.  Doubtful  as  it  must 
needs  be,  whether  any  color  could  be  distinguished  at  such 
a  distance,  this  is  certain,  that  the  lighter  portions  repre- 
sent rigid  masses  and  reflecting  elevations.  A  most  strange 
sensation  is  produced  by  the  long  beams  of  dazzling  lights 
resembling  liquid  silver,  which,  now  isolated  and  now 
united  together  into  broad  bands  of  rays,  pass  in  count- 
less hosts  over  whole,  large  regions.  They  often  centre 
in  some  peculiarly  brilliant,  circular  mountain,  and  the 
gigantic  Tycho  sends  his  rays  of  surpassing  splendor  over 
more  than  one-fourth  of  the  whole  orb,  over  hill  and  dale, 
valley  and  mountain.  At  other  places  they  form  broad 
masses  of  mystic  light,  often  twenty  miles  square.  Moun- 
tain ridges  or  lava  streams  they  are  not,  though  formerly 
the  world  believed  them  such,  because  they  pass  over  the 
very  tops  of  mountains.  Can  they  be  glassy  or  crys- 
tallized masses  of  volcanic  material,  which,  suddenly  cooled, 
12* 


274  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

now  stand  in  rigid  pallor  and  reflect  light  with  an  intensity 
unknown  to  us  on  earth  1 

As  yet  we  have  met  with  no  trace  of  life  on  the  moon. 
Are  there  no  inhabitants  on  our  strange  satellite  1  In  our 
day,  when  the  plurality  of  worlds  threatens  to  become 
the  war-cry  of  sects  and  schools,  the  question  is  but  na- 
tural, and  many  an  eager  inquirer  has  no  doubt  asked 
himself :  what  may  life  be  on  the  moon  1  Have  they 
built  cities  and  founded  empires  there  like  the  men  of 
the  earth  1  Does  a  blue  sky  smile  upon  them,  and  do 
merry  springs  leap  down  the  green  slopes  of  their  moun- 
tains ? 

Nor  is  the  question  altogether  of  recent  date.  While 
Sir  John  Herschel  explored  the  wonders  of  the  southern 
heaven  on  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  there  appeared  unex- 
pectedly a  little  pamphlet,  which  created  no  small  sensa- 
tion even  among  the  learned.  It  purported  to  be  his  first 
account  of  new  discoveries  in  the  moon,  and  contained 
marvellous  reports  of  sheep  of  strange  shape,  of  men 
with  the  wings  of  bats,  of  cities  and  fortified  towns.  The 
world,  however,  soon  found  that  this  was  an  ingenious 
hoax  from  the  pen  of  an  American,  who  had  thus  prac- 
tically tested  the  credulity  of  his  contemporaries.  The 
credit  which  the  clever  imposture  found,  even  among  the 
well-informed,  is  an  ample  apology  for  the  sanguine  ex- 
pectations of  those  who  still  hope,  by  the  aid  of  improved 
instruments,  to  discover  the  man  in  the  moon ;  or,  like 
good  old  Bishop  Wilkins,  to  pay  him  a  neighborly  visit, 
for  which,  ia  sober  earnest,  most  ingenious  plans  have 
been  devised.    Distinguished  astronomers  insist  upon  hav- 


A  Trip  to  the  jMoon. 


275 


mg  seen  large  buildings  in  the  moon ;  Gruithuisen  tells 
us  of  an  edifice  near  the  equator,  in  its  most  fertile  re- 
gions, of  twenty-five  miles  diameter  and  surrounded  with 
large  walls,  which  face,  with  astounding  accuracy,  the  four 
quarters  of  the  compass.  As  it  is  only  le  premier  pas 
qui  coicte,  Schwabe,  in  Germany,  soon  discovered  on  the 
outside  some  smaller  buildings,  and  even  earth- works ! 

One  point,  above  all,  is  apparently  altogether  lost  sight 
of,  by  those  who  cherish  such  sanguine  hopes.  If  we 
eould  distinguish  a  man,  or  any  other  object  at  the  dis 
tance  of  five  miles,  it  would  still  require  an  instrument, 
which  would  magnify  objects  fifty  thousand  times,  to  see 
anything  of  that  size  on  the  moon.  But  if  the  fiir-distant 
future  should  ever  produce  sucli  an  improvement  in  tele- 
scopes, that  would  only  increase,  and  in  alarming  pro- 
portion, the  difficulties  arising  from  the  density  of  our 
atmosphere  and  the  daily  movement  of  the  earth.  Even 
with  our  present  instruments,  far  as  they  are  yet  from 
the  desired  power,  these  impediments  are  so  great  as  se- 
riously to  impair  their  usefulness.  All  that  has  as  yet 
been  accomplished  is  to  see  objects  of  the  extent  of  one 
hundred  yards;  perhaps  we  may,  ere  long,  succeed  in  dis- 
tinguishing works  of  the  size  of  our  pyramids  and  largest 
cathedrals ;  but  at  best  they  will  only  appear  as  minute 
points,  far  too  small  to  exhibit  form  or  shape. 

The  eye,  then,  is  utterly  incapable  of  discovering  life- 
endowed  beings  in  the  moon.  This  would,  of  course,  in 
itself  not  preclude  the  existence  of  inhabitants  in  that 
globe.  Every  argument,  on  the  contrary,  leads  rather  to 
the  conclusion,  that  the  life  of  other  worlds  is,  on  the 


276  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

whole,  govenied  by  the  same  laws  as  that  of  our  earth. 
The  same  infinite  variety  which  astounds  the  eye  and  the 
mind  of  man,  when  he  studies  our  animal  creation  here 
below,  and  the  exquisite  adaptation  of  these  countless  forms 
to  their  precise  purpose,  must  needs  continue  throughout 
creation.  God  is  not  only  great,  but  also  consistent  in 
his  greatness,  and  the  eternal  laws  of  nature,  which  are, 
after  all,  but  an  expression  of  His  will,  must  apply  to 
other  worlds  also.  The  inquiring  mind  will,  therefore,  not 
without  benefit  try  to  derive  additional  knowledge  even 
from  the  scanty  facts  with  which  we  are  as  yet  only 
acquainted. 

We  know  tolerably  well  the  soil,  the  climate  and  the 
surface  of  the  moon.  What,  then,  do  they  teach  us  as 
to  life  on  that  globe?  The  first  circumstance  that  strikes 
the  traveller  on  the  moon,  is  the  wonderful  facility  of 
motion.  Gravity  is  in  the  moon  six  times  less  than  on 
the  earth,  so  that  the  same  power  with  which  we  here 
lift  eighteen  pounds  would  there  raise  a  hundred  weight. 
The  arm  that  can  throw  a  stone  on  earth  ten  feet  high, 
would  on  the  moon  throw  it  up  to  sixty  feet.  The  in- 
equalities of  the  soil  there  M^ould,  to  an  earth-born  man, 
be  no  difficulties;  he  would  glide  over  hills  and  moun- 
tains, which  here  below  require  gigantic  structures,  with 
the  ease  of  the  winged  birds  of  heaven.  This  must  at 
once  produce  a  radical  diflf*erence  between  life  on  earth 
and  life  on  the  moon. 

If  we  look  next  for  the  two  great  elements  of  earthly 
life,  air  and  water,  we  find  that  the  moon  is  but  ill  pro- 
vided for  in  that  respect.    With  all  sympathy  for  great 


A  Trip  to  the  Moon. 


277 


discoverers  and  sanguine  optimists,  we  are  compelled  to 
deny  the  existence  of  either  water  or  air,  such  as  we 
have  them  on  earth,  in  our  satellite.  We  know  the  pres- 
ence of  air  by  the  fact  that  all  air  breaks  and  weakens 
rays  of  light,  which  pass  through  it.  The  atmosphere  of 
the  moon  shows  no  such  effects.  Her  landscapes  appear 
as  clear  and  distinct  on  the  margin  as  in  the  centre  of 
the  orb,  and  when  stars  pass  over  the  latter,  they  show 
no  diminution  of  light  at  the  time  of  their  entrance  into 
the  luminous  circle,  no  increase  of  light  when  they  leave 
it  again.  The  evaporation  of  water  also,  would  be 
betrayed  by  the  same  breaking  of  rays,  if  that  element 
were  mixed  up  with  the  air,  as  it  is  in  our  own  atmos- 
phere, or  if  it  covered  any  part  of  the  moon's  surface. 
Unwilling  as  we  are  to  banish  her  inhabitants  exclusively 
to  that  side  of  the  moon,  which  human  eye  has  never 
yet  beheld,  because  it  is  constantly  turned  away  from 
the  earth,  and  there,  at  fancy's  bid  to  revel  in  a  paradise 
with  purling  brooks  and  balmy  zephyrs,  nothing  is  left 
but  to  assume  that  the  air  is  too  thin  and  the  water  too 
ethereal  to  be  perceived  by  the  instruments  now  at  our 
command.  The  careful  calculations  of  the  great  astron- 
omer Bessel  resulted  in  the  bare  possibility  of  an  atmos- 
phere, a  thousand  times  thinner  than  our  own,  showing 
conclusively  how  little  we  can  expect  to  find  life  on  the 
moon  to  resemble  in  any  way  life  on  earth.  The  in- 
habitants of  that  world,  if  there  be  any,  must  have  other 
bodies  than  ours,  other  blood  must  run  through  their 
veins,  and  other  lungs  breathe  their  air — we  could  never 
live  in  such  a  world. 


278  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

And  what  a  curious  almanac  these  good  people  in  the 
moon  would  have !  There,  days  are  as  long  as  years,  and 
day  and  year  are  equal  to  our  months:  twenty-nine  days, 
twelve  hours,  and  forty-five  minutes.  The  seasons  differ  but 
very  little  from  each  other.  On  the  equator  there  reigns 
eternal  summer,  for  the  sun  is  ever  in  the  zenith;  the 
poles  are  buried  in  eternal  winter.  The  days  are  of 
equal  length  throughout  the  year;  all  days  equally  light, 
all  nights  equally  dark.  The  absence  of  an  atmosphere 
deprives  the  moon  of  the  sweet  charms  of  a  twilight,  and 
glaring  day  would  follow  gloomy  night  with  the  rapidity 
of  lightning,  if  the  slow  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun 
did  not  slightly  break  the  suddenness  of  the  transition. 
Human  eyes,  how^ever,  could  not  bear  the  fierce  contrasts 
of  light  and  shadow ;  they  would  long  in  vain  for  the 
soft  intervals  between  the  two  extremes,  the  other  col- 
ors, which  beautify  our  world  with  their  joyous  variety, 
and  soft  harmony.  The  sky  is  there  not  blue,  but  even 
in  daytime  black,  and  by  the  side  of  the  dazzling  sun  the 
stars  claim  their  place  and  shed  their  light  in  the  heavens. 
Near  the  poles  the  mountain  tops  shine  in  unbroken 
splendor  year  after  year,  but  the  valleys  know  neither 
day  nor  night,  for  they  are  ever  but  scantily  lighted  by 
the  faint  glimmer  reflected  from  the  walls  that  surround 
them. 

That  side  of  the  moon  w^hich  is  turned  away  from 
us,  has  a  night  of  nearly  fifteen  days ;  the  stars  only,  and 
planets,  shine  on  its  ever  dark  sky.  The  side  we  see, 
on  the  contrary,  knows  no  night;  the  earth  lights  it  up 
with   never   ceasing   earth-shine,  a  light   fourteen  times 


A  Trip  to  the  Moon. 


279 


stronger  than  that  which  we  receive  from  the  moon.  We 
recognize  our  own  light,  lent  to  our  friend,  in  the  faint, 
grayish  glimmer  of  that  portion  of  the  moon  which  be- 
fore and  after  the  new  moon  receives  no  light  from 
the  sun,  but  only  from  the  earth,  and  reflects  it  back 
again  upon  us.  Mornings  in  fall  show  it  more  brilliant 
than  evenings  in  spring,  because  in  autumn  the  conti- 
nents of  the  earth  with  their  stronger  light  illumine  the 
moon,  while  in  spring  she  only  receives  a  fainter  light 
from  our  oceans.  Our  orb  appears  to  the  man  in  the 
moon  as  changeable  as  his  home  to  us,  and  he  may  quite 
as  correctly  speak  of  the  first  or  last  quarter  of  the  earth, 
of  new  earth  and  full  earth.  The  whole  heaven  moves  be- 
fore him  once  in  twenty-nine  days  around  its  axis;  the 
sun  and  stars  rise  and  set  regularly  once  in  the  long 
day  ;  but  the  vast  orb  of  our  earth  is  nearly  immova- 
ble. All  around  is  in  slow,  unceasing  motion  :  the  mild 
face  of  the  earth  alone,  a  gorgeous  moon  of  immense 
magnitude,  never  sets  nor  rises,  but  remains  ever  fixed 
in  his  zenith.  It  there  appears  sixteen  times  larger  than 
the  moon  to  us,  and  daily  exhibits  its  vast  panorama  of 
oceans,  continents  and  islands.  Bright  lights  and  dark 
shadows  are  seen  in  ever  varied  change,  as  land  or 
water,  clearings  or  forests  appear,  new  with  every  cloud, 
and  different  at  different  seasons.  The  man  in  the  moon 
has  thus  not  only  his  watch  and  his  almanac  daily  be- 
fore him  in  the  ever-changing  face  of  the  earth,  but  he 
may,  for  all  we  know,  have  maps  of  our  globe  which 
many  a  geographer  would  envy  on  account  of  theii-  full- 
ness and  accuracy.     Long  before   Columbus  discovered 


280  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

America,  and  Cook  New  Holland,  our  lunar  neighbor 
knew  most  correctly  the  form  and  the  outlines  of  the  new 
continents.  There  was  no  New  World  for  him,  and 
there  is  none  left.  He  could  tell  us  the  secrets  of  the 
interior  of  Africa,  and  reveal  to  us  the  fearful  mysteries 
of  the  polar  seas.  But  how  he  on  his  side  must  marvel 
at  our  vast  fields  of  snow,  our  volcanoes  and  tropical 
storms  and  tempests — he  who  knows  neither  fire,  nor 
snow,  nor  clouds!  What  strange  fables  he  may  have 
invented  to  explain  the  shadows  of  our  clouds  as  they 
chase  each  other  over  sea  and  land,  and  hide  from  him 
in  an  instant  the  sunlit  landscape !  And  stranger  still, 
on  the  side  of  the  moon  which  is  turned  from  the  earth, 
he  knows  nothing  at  all  about  us,  unless  news  reach  him 
from  the  happier  side.  Or  he  may  undertake — the  great 
event  in  his  life — a  long  and  painful  journey  to  the 
bright  half  of  his  globe,  to  stare  at  the  wondrously  bril- 
liant earth-star,  with  its  unread  mysteries  and  marvellous 
changes  of  flitting  lights  and  shadows.  Who  knows  what 
earnest  prayers  may  rise  from  the  moon  also,  full  of  thanks 
for  the  floods  of  light  and  heat  we  pour  upon  them, 
or  of  ardent  wishes  that  their  souls  might  hereafter  be 
allowed  to  dwell  in  the  bright  homes  of  the  beauteous 
earth-star  1 

Only  in  one  point  has  the  dark  side  of  the  moon  a 
rare  advantage.  With  its  dark,  unbroken  night,  a  true 
and  literal  "fortnight,"  it  is  the  observatory  of  the  moon, 
and  the  best  in  the  whole  planetary  system.  There  no 
light  from  the  earth,  no  twilight,  hinders  the  most  deli- 


A  Trip  to  the  Moon.  281 


cate  observations,  and  neither  clouds  nor  fogs  ever  step 
between  the  telescope  and  the  heavenly  bodies. 

It  is  a  cold  world,  however,  all  over  that  pale,  life- 
less globe.  The  rays  of  the  sun  can  hardly  warm  that 
thin,  imperceptible  atmosphere,  and  on  the  plains  near 
the  equator,  a  fortnight  of  scorching  sun  and  burning 
heat,  which  parches  and  withers  all  life,  is  instantane- 
ously followed  by  another  fortnight  of  fearful  cold.  Hu- 
man eyes  could  not  bear  this  ever  cloudless,  colorless 
horizon.  Over  the  mournful  scene  that  looks  like  one 
vast  ruin  of  nature,  broods  eternal  silence.  The  thin  air 
cannot  carry  the  waves  of  sound.  Not  a  word,  not  a 
song  is  ever  heard  amid  those  desolate  mountains ;  no 
voice  ever  passes  over  the  sunken  plains.  Pain  and 
joy  are  equally  silent.  A  rock  may  glide  from  its  an- 
cient resting-place,  a  mountain  may  fall  from  its  eternal 
foundation  —  no  thunder  is  heard,  no  echo  awakened. 
Grim  silence  reigns  supreme.  No  rainbow  is  set  in  the 
clouds  as  a  token  from  on  high;  storm  and  tempest 
give  not  way  to  the  merry  song  of  birds  and  the  breath 
of  gentle,  balmy  winds.  There  we  look  in  vain  for 
green  forests  with  their  cool  shade,  for  playful  fountains 
to  cheer  and  to  refresh  us.  Far  as  eye  can  reach  we 
see  nothing  but  bare  mountains,  desolate  masses  of  rock, 
countless  stones  amidst  huge  boulders  of  glassy  fabric. 
Human  bodies  could  not  endure  these  long  days  and 
endless  nights ;  human  souls  could  not  bear  that  silent, 
lifeless  world  of  desolation. 

Even  this  universal  devastation,  however,  does  not 
absolutely  preclude  the   existence   of  created  beings  on 


282 


Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 


the  moon.  We  can  think  as  little  of  a  noble  tree  with* 
out  leaves,  flowers  and  fruits,  as  of  an  orb,  rolling  in 
silent,  serene  majesty  through  the  midnight  firmament, 
without  organic  life  and  intelligence.  The  earth  teaches 
us  the  same  lesson  by  simple  logic.  The  earth  also,  once 
incandescent  and  scarcely  cooled,  has  been  the  theatre 
of  fearful  convulsions;  gigantic  forces  have  torn  her  in- 
terior, and  deeply  furrowed  her  surface.  But  hardly 
was  apparent  peace  restored  upon  the  still  unshapen 
globe  when  it  produced,  at  the  word  of  the  Almighty, 
a  creation  full  of  fresh  life,  at  first  rude,  raw  and  imper- 
fect, like  nature  itself,  but  daily  growing  nobler,  more 
varied,  more  spiritual.  We  know  this,  for  each  varied 
organization  of  such  life,  as  it  perished,  has  left  its  epi- 
taph written  upon  imperishable  monuments.  May  we 
then  not  believe,  that,  like  the  earth,  the  moon  also  has 
had  her  first  period  of  storm  and  strife  1  Of  this  her 
vast  plains,  her  rugged  craters  and  mysterious  furrows 
give  proof  in  abundance.  The  present  seems  to  be  her 
period  of  rest,  during  which  nature  gains  strength  to  pro- 
duce a  life-endowed  creation.  This  we  conclude  from  her 
unchanging  face,  and  her  clear,  imperceptible  atmos- 
phere. If  this  be  so,  then  there  must  come  a  time  for 
the  moon  as  for  the  earth,  though  perhaps  after  thou- 
sands of  years  only,  when  thinking,  intelligent  beings 
will  rise  from  her  dust.  The  whole  universe  has  some 
elements  in  common.  The  great  cosmic  powers,  light 
and  heat,  are  the  same  first  conditions  of  organic  life 
throughout  the  vast  creation ;  they  send  their  waves 
through  the  wide  ocean  of  the  world,  and  play  against 


A  Trip  to  the  Moon. 


283 


the  shores  of  all  of  its  gigantic  islands.  There  is,  no 
doubt,  vital  power  in  them,  and  at  the  proper  time,  at 
His  bidding,  life  will  spring  forth  and  order  will  reign, 
where  now  destruction  and  chaos  alone  seem  to  rule 
supreme. 

The  moon  is  one  of  the  great  heavenly  bodies,  all  of 
which  work  together  in  beautiful  harmony  to  the  glory 
of  God.  They  all  move,  like  loving  sisters,  hand  in  hand 
through  the  great  universe.  As  they  live  with  each 
other,  so  they  evidently  live  for  each  other.  Supersti- 
tion, ignorance,  and  even  wilful  exaggeration  have  much 
obscured  the  effects  of  this  mutual  influence.  The  moon 
especially  has  been  treated  as  if  she  existed  for  the  ben- 
efit of  the  earth  only.  From  the  times  of  antiquity  the 
world  has  been  filled  with  fanciful  stories  of  her  influ- 
ence on  our  w^eather,  our  vegetation,  our  health,  and 
even  the  state  of  our  mind.  Many  have  believed  in  a 
daily  direct  communication  between  the  two  great  bodies; 
they  looked  upon  meteoric  stones  as  coming  to  us  di- 
rectly from  the  craters  of  the  moon's  volcanoes,  and  the 
fertile  imagination  of  happy  dreamers  reduced  a  crude 
mass  of  half  true,  half-fabulous  details  into  a  regular  sys- 
tem, long  before  the  moon  itself  was  even  but  tolera- 
bly well  known  to  us.  It  is  notorious  that  men  of  such 
rank  as  Piazzi  and  Sir  William  Herschel  considered  cer- 
tain light  appearances  in  the  moon  as  volcanic  eruptions, 
whilst  a  German  astronomer  of  great  merit,  Schroeter, 
saw  in  them  enormous  fires  raging  in  some  of  the  cap- 
itals  of  our  satellite!  Meteoric  stones  are,  in  our  day, 
fortunately  better   explained.     Unless   the  volcanoes  on 


284  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

the  moon  had  a  force  thirty  times  greater  than  our  own, 
they  could  not  project  masses  far  enough  to  come  within 
reach  of  our  atmosphere.  Such  gigantic  and  continued 
eruptions  could,  moreover,  not  fail  to  cause  some  per- 
manent change  in  the  surface  of  the  moon,  of  which  no 
trace  has  as  yet  been  perceived. 

Great  heavenly  bodies  commune  not,  like  men,  by 
throwing  bombshells  at  each  other;  their  influence  is 
felt  through  the  agency  of  light,  heat  and  attraction. 
The  light  of  the  moon,  it  is  true,  is  ninety  thousand  times 
weaker  than  sunlight,  and  that  its  rays  warm  not,  is  a 
popular  assertion.  But  people  are  not  always  right,  with 
due  deference  be  it  said,  even  in  matters  of  science.  They 
used  to  say  that  moonlight  nights  were  colder  than  oth- 
ers. So  they  are ;  but  the  moon  is  not  to  be  blamed 
for  it.  She  shines  brighter  when  the  sky  is  not  ob- 
scured; but  when  that  is  the  case,  the  earth  also  grows 
colder,  because  radiation  is  increased.  Thus  the  two  facts 
are  perfectly  true,  only  there  is  no  connection  of  cause 
and  effect  between  them.  Melloni's  experiments,  made 
in  1846,  prove  even  that  the  rays  of  the  moon  have  a 
certain  amount  of  heat,  though  so  little,  that  the  most 
powerful  lenses  fail  to  make  it  perceptible  on  the  ther- 
mometer. 

The  old  Phoenicians  already  knew  the  moon  well  as 
their  faithful  companion  and  guide  on  their  long,  bold 
sea  voyages;  they  knew  that  the  gigantic  breathing  of 
the  ocean,  its  ebb  and  tide,  were  her  work.  Antiquity 
looked  with  awe  and  wonder  upon  this  supernatural 
power  of  the  great  pale  orb.     Modern   science   sees  in 


A  Trip  to  the  Moon, 


it  one  of  the  most  glorious  effects  of  that  great  and  mys- 
terious power  of  attraction,  which  binds  and  holds  the 
universe  together.  The  moon,  though  so  near  to  us, 
cannot  move  the  firm  continent,  but  she  allures  the 
elastic  waters  of  the  earth,  until  they  raise  huge  foam- 
covered  masses  up  towards  the  distant  charmer.  In  one 
great,  unbroken  wave  of  vast  dimensions  they  follow  the 
receding  moon  with  eager  haste,  and  in  the  short  space 
of  twenty-four  hours  rush  round  our  globe,  until  con- 
tinent and  island  break  their  imposing  power.  Twice 
in  the  day  and  twice  at  night  does  this  immense  giant- 
snake,  wound  round  our  globe,  breathe;  for  six  hours  it 
swells  and  rises  high  into  the  pure  air  of  the  atmos. 
phere;  for  six  hours  afterwards  it  sinks  and  vanishes, 
falling  back  into  its  eternal  limits.  Although  the  mys- 
terious sympathies  of  the  great  worlds  of  the  universe 
are  all  alike,  and  sun  and  moon  work  jointly  in  this 
great  movement,  the  power  of  the  latter  far  exceeds,  in 
this  respect,  by  its  greater  vicinity  to  the  earth,  that  of 
the  sun.  Hence  the  tides  follow  closely  the  magic  course 
of  the  moon  in  the  heavens,  and  recur  regularly  once  in 
every  twelve  hours,  twenty-five  minutes,  as  far  as  they 
are  not  retarded  by  the  resistance  of  the  water  itself,  by 
coasts  and  winds,  or  by  opposing  currents.  When  sun 
and  moon  happen  both  to  attract  at  the  same  time,  the 
effect  is,  of  course,  incredibly  heightened ;  so-called  spring- 
tides rise  at  the  period  of  full  or  new  moon,  rush  with 
irresistible  power  high  over  cliffs  and  chalky  ramparts, 
their  gigantic  arms  long  stretched  out  towards  the  moon, 
and  fall  upon  the  peaceful  plain  and  the  fertile  fields  of 


286  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

the  terrified  husbandman.  Still,  man  can  conquer  even 
the  great  magician  in  the  heavens.  He  knows  the  hour 
when  the  wild  army  is  approaching,  he  flees  from  the 
rage  of  the  threatening  tide  waves,  or  he  builds  gigantic 
walls,  against  which  they  dash  hissing  and  roaring ;  they 
tremble  for  an  instant,  as  if  drawing  a  last,  full  breath, 
and  then  break  their  iron  front  into  harmless  clouds  of 
spray  and  foam. 

As  all  attraction  is  mutual,  the  earth  also  causes  an 
enormous  tide  on  the  moon ;  its  power  is  eighty-one 
times  stronger  than  that  which  produces  our  tides.  The 
moon,  we  have  seen,  turns  constantly  only  one  side  to- 
wards us ;  it  is,  therefore,  but  natural  to  conclude  that 
so  immense  a  power  must  have  produced  vast  changes 
in  her  surface.  Some  believe,  on  this  account,  that,  to 
restore  the  balance,  the  sea  and  the  atmosphere  of  the 
moon  have  fled  to  the  opposite  side.  So  much  is  cer- 
tain, that,  thanks  to  the  loving  attraction  of  our  mother 
earth,  the  side  turned  towards  us  rises  at  least  a  thousand 
feet  above  the  regular  form  of  a  globe. 

But  the  great  ocean  does  not  alone  show  the  attrac- 
tion of  the  moon  in  its  tides;  the  huge  mass  of  air,  the 
atmosphere,  that  surrounds  the  earth,  is  likewise  exposed 
to  these  forces.  Ebb  and  tide  on  this  vast,  unmeasured 
ocean,  are,  of  course,  not  perceptible  far  down  in  its 
depth,  where  we  poor  men  breathe  painfully ;  but  only 
on  the  surflice,  to  which  even  the  boldest  balloon  sailor 
has  never  yet  risen,  and  perhaps  in  the  very  delicate 
changes  of  susceptible  barometers.  The  latter  are,  how- 
ever, extremely  minute;   only  from  time  to  time  some 


A  Trip  to  the  Moon. 


287 


great  current  in  the  atmosphere  lushes  down  into  the 
deep  of  the  transparent  ocean,  and  tells  us  in  a  roaring 
tornado,  or  the  destructive  violence  of  a  fearful  hurri- 
cane, of  the  mysterious  movements  in  the  airy  waves, 
that  were  charmed  by  the  magic  power  of  the  moon,  and 
tried  to  leave  their  mother  earth  to  hasten  to  the  be- 
witching island  in  the  blue,  starry  heavens. 

But  there  is  another  strong,  binding  tie  between  moon 
and  earth,  that  makes  us  thankful  for  the  precious  things 
put  forth  by  the  former.  She  has  been  the  oldest  and 
safest  teacher,  to  whom  mankind  ever  listened.  Even  the 
old  Egyptians,  Babylonians,  Indians,  and  Greeks,  whilst 
they  worshipped  her  as  a  goddess,  failed  not  carefully  to 
observe  the  changes  in  her  pale  face  and  by  them  to 
measure  their  time.  Like  a  faithful  porter,  she  has  ever 
stood  at  the  gates  of  the  great  heavens  with  their  count- 
less stars,  and  taught  us  how  to  find  times  and  distances. 
In  the  upper  rooms  of  the  eighth  story  of  the  lofty  towers 
of  Babylon,  in  the  dark  halls  of  the  vast  temples  of 
Egypt,  sat  the  hoary  priests  of  antiquity,  and  watched  the 
wanderings  of  the  great  star  of  the  night,  thus  to  order 
the  times  of  the  year  and  the  labors  of  man.  The  moon 
has  taught  us  the  secrets  of  arithmetic  and  geometry; 
she  was  the  first  mathematician,  she  aided  agriculture  and 
navigation ;  she  taught  historians  the  order  of  great  events, 
and  gave  to  the  priests  of  mankind  their  lofty  positions 
by  confiding  to  them  the  secret  of  her  constant  changes. 
Now,  our  astronomers  make  her  the  mirror  on  which  the 
earth  throws  her  image,  when  the  sun  is  behind  both, 
and  thus  prove  on  the  moon's  quiet  surface,  the  round 


288  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

form  of  our  globe.  The  faint  uncertain  light,  Avhich  at  the 
time  of  the  first  quarter  fills  up  the  rest  of  the  round  orb, 
serves  them  to  measure  the  intensity  of  the  light  which  the 
earth  diffuses.  The  perturbations  in  her  motions  teach  them 
the  respective  powers  of  attraction  of  sun  and  earth,  make 
known  their  form  and  reveal  even  the  internal  structure 
of  the  latter.  Eclipses  must  serve  as  means  to  measure 
the  height  of  lunar  mountains,  and  to  investigate  more 
closely  the  secrets  of  the  sun  itself,  and  when  the  moon 
covers  fixed  stars,  they  learn  by  this  the  velocity  of  light, 
the  distance  of  those  stars  and  the  density  of  our  own 
atmosphere. 

From  a  consideration  of  such  signal  services  rendered 
to  grateful  mankind,  we  might  well  grant  the  moon  a 
word  now  and  then  to  the  clerk  of  the  weather.  But 
the  fiiith  of  our  forefathers  in  this  respect  has  been  al- 
most entirely  destroyed.  Neither  the  barometer  itself,  nor 
the  most  careful  observations  made  during  the  space  of 
twenty-eight  years  in  the  north,  during  fifty  years  in  the 
tropics,  show  any  reliable  influence  of  the  moon  on  our 
w^eather.  Still  the  world  adheres  with  a  constancy,  worthy 
of  a  better  cause,  to  the  ancient  belief.  The  faithful  prefer 
their  own  observations  to  those  of  abstract  science,  as 
they  call  it,  and  insist  upon  it  that  a  change  in  the  moon 
produces  a  change  in  the  weather ;  what  their  grand- 
parents taught  them,  they  faithfully  hand  down  to  grand- 
children. We  all  have  a  tendency  to  explain  mysteries 
by  new  mysteries,  and  as  no  science  has  yet  been  able 
to  enter  into  the  great  laboratory  where  rain  and  sun- 
shine are  manufactured,  the  world  finds  it  easy  and  con- 


A  Trip  to  the  Moon. 


289 


venient  to  lay  that  duty  upon  the  broad  shoulders  of  the 
good  old  moon,  and  to  make  her,  in  a  new  sense,  "a 
faithful  witness  in  heaven." 

But  as  among  the  chaff,  many  a  plump  good  grain  may 
be  found,  so  the  vast  mass  of  superstitions  about  the  in- 
fluence of  the  moon  on  life  on  earth  also  contains,  every 
now  and  then,  a  particle  of  truth.  It  is  not  denied  that 
wood  cut  at  the  time  of  an  increasing  moon  is  more 
perishable  than  that  cut  at  other  periods,  for  repeated 
and  careful  observations  made  in  the  West  Indies  con- 
firm the  long-cherished  opinion.  Many  farmers,  also,  firm- 
ly believe  that  all  grain  sown  under  an  increasing  moon 
prospers  better  on  that  account.  That  the  light  of  the 
moon  must  have  some  little  influence  on  vegetation,  has 
been  satisfactorily  proved  by  the  fact  that  plants,  which 
had  been  bleached  in  darkness,  recovered  their  green 
color  by  exposure  to  moonlight  only. 

The  sick  know  the  influence  of  the  moon  unfortunately 
but  too  well.  Goitres  are  said  to  swell  periodically  with 
the  full  moon ;  liver-complaints  to  become  worse  at  the 
same  time,  and  the  insane  to  suffer  of  more  violent  at- 
tacks of  rage.  Death  itself,  it  is  well  known,  frequently 
waits  for  the  tide,  that  is,  for  the  moon.  It  is  much  to 
be  regretted  that  science,  with  haughty  disregard,  has 
thrown  these  popular  notions  aside  without  an  attempt 
to  sift  them,  a  proceeding  which  cannot  fail  to  deprive 
us  of  much  that  might  otherwise  become  not  only  inter- 
esting, but  even  valuable.  Since  we  have  entered  deeper 
into  the  secrets  of  life ;  shice  we  know  how  incredibly 
delicate  nre  the  functions  of  our  nerves;  since  we  can 
13 


290  Leaves  from  the  Book  of  Nature. 

no  longer  deny  the  mysterious  effects  of  magnetism,  even 
though  we  may  look  upon  them  only  as  symptoms  of 
disease  and  self  illusion ;  since  we  have  to  admit  the  effi- 
cacy of  light,  long  after  human  eyes  perceive  it  no  longer 
— it  is  surely  high  time  that  we  should  try  to  find  the 
grain  of  truth  which  is  in  every  fable,  and  probably  in 
these  superstitions  also.  We  are  aware  that  men  of  sci- 
ence are  sedulously  employed  in  this  noble  undertaking, 
and  that,  for  instance,  in  medicine  very  remarkable  re- 
sults have  already  been  obtained. 

This  practical  tendency  need  not  destroy  the  sweet, 
magic  charm,  which  the  moon  now,  as  of  old,  exercises  over 
the  soul  of  man.  The  poet  tells  us  to-day,  as  he  did 
yesterday,  how  the  mountains  kneel  before  God  in  silent 
prayer,  when  the  peace  of  the  sabbath  reigns  all  around, 
how  the  host  of  stars  light  up  the  gigantic  temple,  and 
the  moon  hangs,  as  the  ever-burning  lamp  of  man's 
worship,  high  above  the  eternal  altar  of  nature."  The 
painter  studies  the  quaint,  fairy  lights  of  the  pale  orb, 
as  it  pours  its  mild  radiance  over  field  and  town.  The 
lover  communes  with  the  tender  amber  round  which  the 
moon  spreads  about  her,  moving  through  a  fleecy  night, 
and  the  pained  heart  finds  sweet  comfort  in  her  peace- 
ful silver  light.  The  arctic  traveller  blesses  her  as  she 
lights  up  with  her  faint  but  ever  welcome  favor,  the  long, 
cold  polar  night;  and  the  people  at  large,  look  up  to 
her  for  mysterious  blessings.  For  many  are  the  charms 
of  the  pale  light  of  the  moon,  not  known  to  the  man 
of  science.  How  peacefully  and  kindly  she  smiles  through 
the  window  upon  the  little  bed  of  the  infant,  and  wakes 


A  Trip  to  the  Moon. 


291 


in  its  childish  mind  a  thousand  strange  and  fanciful  no- 
tions, until  gentle  slumber  closes  those  pure  innocent  eyes! 
Teasing  and  playing,  she  will  come  between  that  loving 
couple  in  the  dark  bower,  and  break  in  upon  their  sweet, 
silent  communion.  Beautiful  as  some  fair  saint,  serenely 
moving  on  her  way  in  hours  of  trial  and  distress,  she 
watches  like  a  mild,  faithful  companion  by  the  side  of 
the  sick-bed;  with  peace  and  heavenly  comfort  in  her 
sweet,  pale  face,  she  soothes  the  weary  eye  and  shortens 
the  long,  painful  night.  Inspiration  itself  has  asked,  "  Who 
is  she  that  looketh  forth  as  the  morning,  fair  as  the 
moon  f  At  last  her  gentle  pilg^^mage  is  ended ;  sink- 
ing silently  she  drops  down  behind  the  sky,  a  faithful 
witness  of  the  brighter  light  that  is  to  follow  after  this 
faint  moonlight  life,  and  a  gladsome  prophet  of  the  abun- 
dance of  peace  which  the  Almighty  has  promised  "as 
long  as  the  moon  endureth." 


THE  END. 


1 


All  the  Books  on  this  Catalogue  sent  by  mail,  co  any  pan  of  the  Umon,frte 
of  postage,  upon  receipt  of  Price, 


CATALOGUE  OF  BOOKS 

ON 


AGRICULTURE  AND  HORTICULTURE, 

PUBLISHED  Br 

JL.    O.  MOORE, 

(LATE  C.  M.  SAITON  &  CO^ilPANY.) 
No.  140  FULTON  STREET,  NEW  YORK, 

SUITABLE  FOB. 

SCHOOL,  TOWN,  AGRICULTURAL,  AND  PRIVATE  LIBRARIES. 


THE  AME2ICAN  FARMER'S  ENCYCLOPEDIA,  -       -        -        $4  00 

Embracing  all  the  Recent  Discoyeries  in  Agriultural  Chem- 

istry,  and  the  use  of  Mineral,  Vegetable  and  Animal  Mannres,  with  Descriptions  and 
Figures  of  American  Insects  injurious  to  Vegetation.  Being  a  Complete  Guide  for  the 
cultivation  of  every  variety  ol  Garden  and  Field  Crops.  Illustrated  by  numerous  En- 
gravings of  Grasses-  Grains,  Animals,  Implements,  Insects,  &c.  By  Goitvekneub 
Emerson,  of  Pennsylvania,  upon  the  basis  of  Johnson's  Farmers  Encyclopedia. 

DOWNING'S  (A.  J.)  LANDSCAPE  GARDENING,         -       -  3  50 

A  Treatise  on  the  Theory  and  PracticI'  andscape  Gar- 
dening.  Adapted  to  North  America,  with  a  view  to  the  impiuvement  of  Country 
Eesidences;  comprising  Historical  Notices  and  General  Principles  of  the  Art,  direc- 
tions for  Laying  out  Grounds  and  Arranging  Plantations,  the  Description  and  Cultiva- 
tion of  Hardy  Trees,  Decorative  Accompaniments  to  the  House  and  Grounds,  the 
Formation  of  Pieces  of  Artificial  Waters,  Flower  Gardens,  &c.,  with  Kemarks  on 
Eural  Architecture.  Elegantly  Illustrated,  with  a  Portrait  of  the  Author.  By  A.  J. 
Downing. 

DOWNING'S  <A.  J.)  RTJRAL  ESSAYS,        ....  3  00 

On  Horticulture,  Landscape  Gardening,  Rural  Architecture, 

Trees,  Agriculture,  Fruit,  with  his  Letters  from  England.  Edited,  with  a  Memoir  of 
the  Author,  by  George  Wm.  Curtis,  and  a  letter  to  his  friends,  by  Feederika  Br»- 
MEB,  and  an  elegant  steel  Portrait  of  the  Author. 

DADD'S  ANATOMY  AND  PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  HORSE,  Plain,    2  00 
Do.  Do.  Do.  Do.     Colored  Plates,  4  00 

With  Anatomical  and  Questional  Illustrations  ;  Containing-, 
also,  a  Series  of  Examinations  on  Equine  Anatomy  and  Philosophy,  with  Instructions 
In  reference  to  Dissection,  and  the  mode  of  making  Anatomical  Preparations ;  to  which 
Is  added  a  Glossary  of  Veterinary  Technicalities,  Toxicological  Chart,  and  Dictionary 
of  Veterinary  Science. 
DADD'S  MODERN  HORSE  DOCTOR.  ....  1  00 

Containing  Practical  Observations  on  the  Causes,  Xaturb 

and  Treatment  of  Disease  and  Lameness  of  Horses,  embracing  the  most  recent  and  ap- 
proved methods,  according  to  an  enlightened  system  of  veterinary  thorap^utice,  faf 
Uie  preservation  and  restoration  «   bealth.   With  Illustntkma. 


2  Books  Fuhlished  by  A.  0.  Moore. 


DADD'S  (GEO.  H.)  AMERICAN  CATTLE  DGCTOE,       -       -       $1  00 

CONTAINIXG  THE  NeCESSARY  INFORMATION  FOR  PRESERVING  THJ? 
Health  and  Curing  the  Diseases  of  Oxen,  Cows,  Sheep,  and  Bwlne,  with  a  great  \ariety 
of  Orij.'inal  Recipes  and  Valuable  Informatioii  in  relerence  to  Farm  and  Dairy  manage- 
ment, whereby  every  man  can  be  his  own  Cattle  Doctor.  The  principles  taught  in 
this  work  are,  that  all  Medication  shall  be  subservient  to  Nature — that  all  Medicines 
must  be  sanative  in  their  operation,  and  administered  with  a  view  of  aiding  the  vital 
^  powers,  instead  of  depressing,  as  heretofore,  with  the  lancet  or  by  pcisoa.  Ey  G  H. 

Dadd,  M.  D.,  Veterinary  Practitioner. 

THE  DOG  AND  GUN,     -------  50 

A  Few  Loose  Chapters  on  Shooting,  among  which  will  be  found 
some  Anecdotes  and  Incidents ;  also,  instructions  for  Dog  Breaking,  and  Interesting  let- 
ters from  Sportsmen.   By  A  Bad  Suot, 

MORGAN  HORSES,  1  00 

A  Premium  Essay  on  the  Origin,  History,  and  Characteristics 

of  this  remarkable  American  Breed  of  Horses;  tracing  the  Pedigree  from  the  original 
Justin  Morgan,  through  the  most  noted  of  his  progeny,  down  to  the  present  time. 
With  numerous  portraits.  To  which  are  added  hints  for  Breeding,  Breaking,  and 
General  Use  and  Management  of  Horses,  with  practical  Directions  for  training  them  for 
exhibition  at  Agricultural  Fairs.  By  D.  C.  Linslky. 

SORGHO  AND  IMPHEE,  THE  CHINESE  AND  AFRICAN  SUGAR 

CANES.  1  00 

A  Co:^iplete  Treatise  upon  their  Origin  and  Varieties,  Culture 
and  Uses,  their  value  as  a  Forage  Crop,  and  directions  for  making  Sugar,  Molasses, 
Alcohol,  Sparkling  and  Still  Wines,  Beer,  Cider,  Vinegar,  Paper,  Starch,  and  Dye 
Stuffs.  Fully  Illustrated  with  Drawings  of  Approved  Machinery  ;  With  an  Appendix 
by  Leonard  Wrat,  of  Cafiraria,  and  a  description  of  his  patented  process  of  crj^stalliz- 
ing  the  juice  of  the  Imphee  ;  with  the  latest  American  experiments,  including  those  of 
1857,  in  the  South.  By  Heney  S.  Olcott.  To  which  are  added  translations  of  valu- 
able French  Pamphlets,  received  from  the  Hon.  John  T.  Mason,  American  Minister 
at  Paris. 

THE  STABLE  BOOK,  1  00 

A  Treatise  on  the  Management  of  Horses,  in  Relation  to 
Stabling,  Groomlu"  ^  -eding.  Watering  and  Working,  Construction  of  Stables,  Venti'a- 
tion.  Appendage*  oi  otables.  Management  of  the  Feet,  and  of  Diseased  and  Defective 
Horses.  By  John  Stewart,  Veterinary  Surgeon.  With  Notes  and  Additions,  adapt- 
ing it  to  American  Food  and  Climate.  By  A.  B.  Allen,  Editor  of  the  American 
Agriculturist 

THE  HORSE'S  FOOT,  AND  HOW  TO  KEEP  IT  SOUND,        -  50 

With  Cuts,  Illustrating  the  Anatomy  of  the  Foot,  and  contain- 
iag  valuable  Hinta  on  Shoeing  and  Stable  Management,  In  Health  and  In  Disease.  By 
WiLLLAM  Miles. 

"HE  FRUIT  GARDEN  1  25 

A  Treatise,  intended  to  Explain  and  Illustrate  the  Physi- 
ology  of  Fruit  Trees,  the  Theory  and  Practice  of  all  Operations  connected  with  the 
Propagation,  Transplanting,  Pruning  and  Training  of  Orchard  and  Garden  Trees,  a.s 
Standards,  Dwarfs,  Pyramids,  Espalier,  &c.  The  Laying  out  and  Arranging  different 
kinds  of  Orchards  and  Gardens,  the  selection  of  suitable  varieties  for  different  purposes 
and  localities.  Gathering  and  Preserving  Fruits,  Treatment  of  Diseases,  Destruction  of 
Insects,  Description  and  Uses  of  Implements,  &c.  Illustrated  with  upwards  of  150 
Figures,  representing  Different  Parts  of  Trees,  all  Practical  Operations,  forms  of  Trees, 
Designs  for  Plantations,  Implements,  &c.  By  P.  Bakey,  of  the  Mount  Hope  Nurseries, 
Rochester,  N.  Y. 

FIELD'S  PEAR  CULTURE   75 

The  Pear  Garden  ;  or,  a  Treatise  on  the  Propagation  and 
Cultivation  of  the  Pear  Tree,  with  Instruotlons  for  Its  Management  from  the  Beedllna 
lo  the  Bearing  Tree.  By  Thomas  ^v.  Fikld. 


Books  Published  by  A.  0.  Moore. 


BRIDGEMAN'S  (THOS.)  YOUNG  GARDENER'S  ASSISTANT,         $1  50 

In  Three  Parts,  Containing  Catalogues  of  Garden  and  Flower 

Seed,  with  Practical  Directions  under  each  head  for  the  Cultivation  of  Culinary  Vege- 
tables and  Flowers.    Also  directions  for  Cultivating  Fmit  Trees,  the  Grape  Vine,  &c. , 
which  is  tdded,  a  Calendar  to  each  part,  showing  the  work  necessary  to  be  done  in 
the  various  departments  each  mouth  of  the  year.   One  volume  octavo. 

BRIDGEMAN'S  KITCHEN  GARDENER'S  INSTRUCTOR,     i  Cloth,  50 

Cloth,  60 

BRIDGEMAN'S  FLORIST'S  GUIDE  « Cloth,  50 

*'  "  -       -  .       Cloth,  60 

BRIDGEMAN'S  FRUIT  CULTIVATOR'S  MANUAL,     -     « Cloth,  50 

Cloth,  60 

COLE'S  AMERICAN  FRUIT  BOOK,   50 

Containing  Directions  for  Raising,  PRorAGAXiNO  and  Manag- 
Ing  Fruit  Traes,  Shrubs  and  Plants ;  with  a  description  of  the  Best  Varieties  of  Fizit 
Including  New  and  Valuable  Kinds. 
COLE'S  AMERICAN  VETERINARIAN,       -       -       .        -  50 

Containing  Diseases  of  Domestic  Animals,  their  Causes, 

Symptoms  and  Kemedies ;  with  Eules  for  Eestoring  and  Preserving  Health  by  pood 
management ;  also  for  Training  and  Breeding. 

BCHENCK'S  GARDENER'S  TEXT  BOOK,     ....  50 

CoNTAJNiNG  Directions  for  the  Formation  and  Management 
of  the  Kitchen  Garden,  the  Culture  and  Uee  of  Vegetables,  Fruits  and  Medicinal  Herbs. 

AMERICAN  ARCHITECT,  6  00 

The  American  Architect,  Comprising  original  Designs  of  Cheap 

Country  and  Village  Eesidences,  with  Details,  Specifications,  Plans  and  Directions, 
and  an  Estimate  of  the  Cost  of  Each  Design.  By  Joiin  W.  Eitch,  Architect.  First 
and  Second  Series,  4to,  bound  in  1  ""oL 

BUIST'S  (ROBERT)  AMERICAN  FLOWER  GARDEN  DIRECTORY,    1  25 

Containing  Practical  Directions  for  the  Culture  of  Plants, 
In  the  Flower-Garden,  Hot-House,  Green-House,  Eooms  or  Parlor  Windows,  for  every 
Month  in  the  Year ;  with  a  Description  of  the  Plants  most  desirable  in  each,  the  nature 
of  the  Soil  and  Situation  best  adapted  to  their  Growth,  the  Proper  Season  for  Trans- 
planting, &c. ;  with  Instructions  for  Erecting  a  Hot-House,  Green-Houee.  and  Laying 
out  a  Flower  Garden  :  the  whole  adapted  to  either  Large  or  Small  Gardens,  with  In- 
structions for  Preparing  the  Soil,  Propagating,  Planting,  Pruning,  Training  and  Fruit- 
ing the  Grape  Vine. 
THE  AMERICAN  BIRD  FANCIER,  

Considered  tvith  reference  to  the  Breeding,  Rearing,  Feed- 
ing.  Management  and  Peculiarities  of  Cage  and  House  Birds.  Illustrated  with  Engray- 
ings.   By"D.  Jay  Beowne. 

REEMELIN'S  (CHAS.)  VINE  DRESSER'S  MANUAL,    -       -  50 

An  Illustrated  Treatise  on  Vineyards  and  Wine-Making, 

containing  Full  Instructions  as  to  Location  and  Soil,  Preparation  of  Ground,  Selection 
and  Propagation  of  Vines,  the  Treatment  of  Young  Vineyards,  Trimming  and  Training 
the  Vines,  Manures,  and  the  Making  of  Wine. 
DANA'S  MUCK  MANUAL,  FOR  THE  USE  OF  FARMERS,    -  1  00 

A  Treatise  on  the  Physical  and  Chemical  Properties  op 
Soils  and  Chemistry  of  Manures  •  including,  also,  the  subject  of  Composts,  Artificial 
Manures  and  Irrigation.  A  new  edition,  with  a  Chapter  on  Bones  and  Superphos- 
phates. 

CHEMICAL  FIELD  LECTURES  FOR  AGRICULTURISTS,       -  1  00 

By  Dr.  Julius  Adolphus  Stockhardt,  Professor  in  the  Royal 
A^emy  of  Agriculture  at  Tbarant  Tramslated  from  the  German.  Bdlt«d,  with 
BOt&^  by  Jam.  s  £.  Tecbxhach£B. 


4  Books  Published  by  A.  0.  MooRia 


BUIST'S  (EEOIET)  FAMILY  KITCEEN  GAEDENEE,    -       -      §^0  78 

Containing  Plain  and  Accurate  Descbiptionp  of  -via  the  Bif- 
ferent  Species  and  Varieties  of  Culinary  Vegetables,  with  their  Botanical,  English, 
French  and  German  names,  alphabetically  arranged,  with  the  Best  Mode  of  Ouliivating 
them  ia  the  Garden  or  under  Glass;  also  Descriptions  and  Character  of  the  most  Select 
Fruits,  their  Management,  Propagation,  Ac.  By  EoutET  BmST,  author  of  the  "Am- 
erican Flower  Garden  Directory,"  &c. 

DOMESTIC  AND  OENAMENTAL  POULTEY,  Plain  Plates,      -  100 
Do.  Do.  Do.      Colored  Plates,  -  2  00 

A  Treatise  on  the  History  and  Mangement  of  Ornamental 

and  Domestic  Poultry.  By  Eev.  Edmttnd  8a^  Dixon,  A.M.,  with  large  udditiona  by 
J.  J.  Kerr,  M.D.  Illustrated  with  sixty-five  Original  Portraits,  engraved  expressly  fol 
this  work.  Fourth  edition  revised. 

HOW  TO  BUILD  AND  VENTILATE  HOT-HOUSES,      -       -  1  ?5 

A  Peactical  Treatise  on  the  Construction,  Heating  and 
Ventilation  of  Ilot-Uouses,  Including  Conservatories,  Green -Houses,  Graperiss  and 
other  Icinds  of  Horticultural  Structures,  with  Practical  Directions  for  their  Manage 
ment,  in  regard  to  Light,  Heat  and  Air.  Illustrated  with  numerous  eagravings.  By 
P.  B.  Leuohars,  Garden  Architect. 

CHOELTON'S  GEAPE-GRO WEE'S  GUIDE,   ....  60 

Intended  Especially  for  the  American  Climate.     Being-  a 

Practical  Treatise  on  the  Cultivation  of  the  Grape  Vine  in  each  department  of  Hot 
House,  Cold  Grapery,  Eetarding  House  and  Out-door  Culture.  "With  Plans  for  tt'* 
Construction  of  the  Kequisite  Buildings,  and  giving  the  best  methods  for  Heating  the 
same.   Every  department  being  fully  Illustrated.   By  William  CnoRLXON. 

NOETON'S  (JOHN  P.)  ELEMENTS  OF  SCIENTIFIC  AGEICULTUEE, 

ORr  the  Connection  bettveen  Science  and  the  Art  of  Practical 
Farming.  Prize  Essay  of  the  New  York  State  Agricultural  Society.  By  John  P. 
Norton,  M.A.,  Professor  of  Scientific  Agriculture  in  Tale  College.  Adapted  to  tbs 
use  of  Schoole. 

JOHNSTON'S  (J.  F.  W.)  CATECHISM  OF  AGRICULTUEAL  CHEM- 

ISTEY  AND  GEOLOGY,   25 

By  James  F.  W.  Johnston,  M.A..  F.E.SS.L.  Siud  E.,  Honorary 

Member  of  the  Eoyal  Agricultural  Society  of  England,  end  author  of  "Lectures  on 
Agricultural  Chemistry  and  Geology."  "With  an  Introduction  by  John  Pitkin  Nob- 
ton,  M.A.,  late  Professor  of  Scientific  Agriculture  in  Yale  College.  "With  notes  and 
additions  by  the  author,  prepared  expressly  for  this  edition,  and  an  Appendix  compiled 
by  the  Superintendent  ot  Education  in  Nova  Scotia.   Adapted  to  the  use  of  Schools. 

JOHNSTON'S  (J.  F.  W.)  ELEMENTS  OF  AGEICULTUEAL  CHEM. 

ISTEY  AND  GEOLOGY,  1  00 

With  a  Complete  Analytical  and  Alphabetical  Index  and  an 
American  Preface.   By  Hon.  Simon  Brown,  Editor  of  the  "New  England  Farmer.' 
JOHNSTON'S  (JAMES  F.  W.)  AGEICULTUEAL  CHEMISTEY,  1  25 

Lectures  on  the  Application  of  Chemistry  and  Geology  to 
Agriculture.  New  edition,  with  an  Appendix,  containing  the  Author's  Experimento 
in  Practical  Agriculture. 

IHE:  COMPLETE  FAEMEE  AND  AMEEICAN  GARDENEE,  1  25 

Rural  Economist  and  New  American  Gardener  ;  Containing 
a  Compendious  Epitome  of  the  most  Important  Branches  of  Agriculture  and  Bnrai 
Economy ;  with  Practical  Directions  on  the  Cultivation  of  Fruits  and  Vegetables,  in- 
cluding Landscape  and  Ornamental  Gardening.  ByTnoMAfl  G.  Febsendkn.  2  vola. 
in  one. 

fESSENDEN'S  (T.  G.)  AMERICAN  KITCHEN  GAEDENEE,   -  50 

Containing  Directions  for  the  Cultivation  op  Vegetables  anii 
Garden  Fruito.  Cloth. 


Boohs  Puhlislied  by  A.  0.  Moore.  5 


KTASH'S  (J.  A.)  PROGRESSIVE  FARMER,  -       -        ~       -       SO  60 

A  Scientific  Treatise  on  Agricultural  Chemistry,  the  Ge- 

ology  of  Agriculture,  on  Plants  and  Animals,  Manures  and  Soils,  applied  to  Practical 
Agriculture ;  with  a  Catechism  of  Scientific  and  Practical  Agriculture.  By  J.  A.  Nash. 

BRECK'S  BOOK  OE  FLOWERS,  1  00 

In  which  are  Described  all  the  Various  Hardy  Herbaceous 
Perennials,  Annuals,  Shrubs,  Plants  and  Evergreen  Trees,  with  Directions  for  their 
Cultivation.  ^, 

SSUTH'S  (C.  H.  J.)  LANDSCAPE  GARDENING,  PARKS  AND  PLEASURE 
GROUNDS.  125 

With  Practical  Notes  on  Country  Residences,  Villas,  Public 

Parks  and  Gardens.  By  Charles  H.  J.  Smith,  Landscape  Gardener  and  Garden 
Architect,  &c.  With  Notes  and  Additions  by  Lewis  F.  Allen,  author  of  "  llural 
Architecture." 

£HE  COTTON  PLANTER'S  MANUAL,         -  1  00 

Being  a  Compilation  of  Facts  from  the  Best  Authorities  on 
the  Culture  of  Cotton,  its  Natural  History,  Chemical  Analysis,  Trade  and  Consumption, 
and  embracing  a  History  of  Cotton  and  the  Cotton  Gin.   By  J.  A.  Tckner. 

UOBBETT'S  AMERICAN  GARDENER,         -       -       -       -  50 

A  Treatise  on  the  Situation,  Soil,  and  Laying-out  of  Gardens, 
and  the  making  and  managing  of  Hot-Beds  and  Green-Houses,  and  on  the  Propagation 
and  Cultivation  of  the  several  sorts  of  Vegetables,  Herbs,  Fruits  and  Flowers. 

ALLEN  (J.  FISK)  ON  THE  CULTURE  OF  THE  GRAPE,      -  I  00 

A  Practical  Treatise  on  the  Culture  and  Treatment  of  the 
Grape  Vine,  embracing  its  History,  with  IWrectioiis  for  its  Traatment  in  the  United 
States  of  America,  in  the  Open  Air  and  under  Glass  Structures,  with  and  without 
Artificial  Heat.   By  J.  Fisk  Allen. 

ALLEN'S  (R.  L )  DISEASES  OF  DOMESTIC  ANIMALS,  -  75 

Being  a  History  and  Description  of  the  Horse,  Mule,  Cattle, 
Sheep,  Swine,  Poultry,  and  Farm  Dogs,  with  Directions  for  their  Management,  Breed, 
ing.  Crossing,  Bearing,  Feeding,  and  Preparation  for  a  Profitable  Market ;  also,  their 
Diseases  and  Eemedies,  together  with  full  Directions  for  the  Management  of  the  Dairy, 
and  the  comparative  Economy  and  Advantages  of  Working  Animals,  the  Horse,  Mule, 
Oxen,  &c.   By  K.  L.  Allen. 

ALLEN'S  (R.  L.)  AMERICAN  FARM  BOOK,      -       -       -         1  00 

The  American  Farm  Book  ;  or,  a  Compend  of  American  Agi'icul- 

ture,  being  a  Practical  Treatise  on  Soils,  Manures,  Draining,  Irrigation,  Grasses,  Grain, 
Koots,  Fruits,  Cotton,  Tobacco,  Sugar  Cane,  Eice,  and  every  Staple  Product  of  the 
United  States ;  with  the  Best  Methods  of  Planting,  Cultivating  and  Preparation  for 
Market.  Blustrated  with  more  than  100  engravings.   By  E.  L.  Allen. 

ALLEN'S  (L.  F.)  RURAL  ARCHITECTURE ;       -       -       -  1  26 

Being  a  Complete  Description  of  Farm  Houses,  Cottages,  and 

Out  Buildings,  comprising  "Wood  Houses,  Workshops,  Tool  Houses,  Carriage  and 
Wagon  Houses,  Stables,  Smoke  and  Ash  Houses,  Ice  Houses,  Apiaries  or  Bee  Houses, 
Poultry  Houses,  Babbitry,  Dovecote,  Piggery,  Barns,  and  Sheds  for  Cattle,  &c.,  &c, 
together  with  Lawns,  Pleasure  Grounds,  and  Parks  ;  the  Flower,  Fruit,  and  Vege- 
table Garden;  also  useful  and  ornamental  domestic  Animals  for  the  Country  Eesident, 
&c.,  &c.  Also,  the  best  method  of  conducting  water  into  Cattle  Yards  and  Houaea. 
Beautifully  illustrated. 

^TARING'S  ELEMENTS  OF  AGRICULTURE;  -       -       -  75 

A  Book  roR  Young  Farmers,  with  Questions  tor  thb  use  or 

Schools. 


6 


Books  Fuhlished  by  A.  0.  Moore. 


PARDEE  (R.  G.)  ON  STRAWBERRY  CULTURE  ;        -       -       $0  60 

A  Complete  Manual  for  the  Clt^tivation  of  the  Strawberry  ; 

with  a  description  of  the  best  varieties. 

Also,  notKjes  of  the  Kaspberry,  Blackberry,  Currant,  Gooseberry,  and  Grape ;  -with 
directions  for  their  cultivation,  and  the  selection  of  the  best  varieties.  "  Every  procesa 
here  recommended  has  been  proved,  the  plans  of  others  tried,  and  the  result  is  her* 
given."  With  a  valuable  appendix,  containing  the  observations  and  experieace  ol 
»ome  of  the  inoBt  successful  cultivators  of  these  fruits  in  our  country. 

•  GUENON  ON  MILCH  COWS  ;   60 

A  Treatise  on  Milch  Cows,  whereby  the  Quality  aud  Quantity  of 

Milk  which  any  Cow  will  give  may  be  accurately  determined  by  observing  Natura' 
^,  Marks  or  External  Indications  alone;  the  length  of  time  she  will  continue  to  give 
^  Milk,  &c.,  &c.  By  M.  Francib  Guenon,  of  Libourne,  France.  Translated  by  Nicho- 
las P.  Trist,  Esq. ;  with  Introduction,  Eemarks,  and  Observations  on  the  Cow  and 
the  Dairy,  by  JonN  S.  Skinnee.  Illustrated  with  numerous  engravings.  Neatly 
done  up  in  paper  covers,  37  cts. 

AMERICAN  POULTRY  YARD ;  100 

Comprising  the  Origin,  History  and  Description  of  the  different 

Breeds  of  Domestic  Poultry,  with  complete  directions  for  their  Breeding,  Crossing, 
Bearing,  Fattening,  and  Preparation  for  Market ;  including  specific  directions  for 
Caponizing  Fowls,  and  for  the  Treatment  of  the  Principal  Diseases  to  which  they  are 
subject,  (Irawn  from  authentic  sources  and  personal  observation.  Illustrated  wiih 
numerous  engravings.  By  D.  J.  Beowne. 

BROWNE'S  (D.  JAY)  FIELD  BOOK  OF  MANURES  ;       -       -  1  25 

Or,  American  Muck  Book  ;  Treating  of  the  Nature,  Properties, 

Sources,  History,  and  Operations  of  all  the  Principal  Fertilizers  and  Manures  in  Com- 
mon Use,  with  specific  directions  for  their  Preservation,  and  Application  to  the  Soil 
and  to  Crops ;  drawn  from  authentic  sources,  actual  experience,  and  personal  observa- 
tion, as  combined  with  the  Leading  Principles  of  Practical  and  Scientific  Agriculture- 
By  D.  Jay  Beowne. 

RANDALL'S  (H.  S.)  SIIEEP  HUSBANDRY;        ...  125 

With  an  Account  of  the  Different  Breeds,  and  general  direc- 
tions in  regard  to  Summer  and  Winter  Management,  Breeding,  and  the  Treatment  of 
Diseases,  with  Portraits  and  other  Engravings.  By  Heuey  S!" Randall. 

THE  SHEPHERD'S  OWN  BOOK 2  00 

With  an  Account  of  the  Different  Breeds,  Diseases  and  Man- 

agement  of  Sheep,  and  General  Directions  in  regard  to  Summer  and  "Winter  Man- 
Bgement,  Breeding,  and  the  Treatment  of  Diseases ;  with  Illustrative  Engravings,  by 
YoUAXT  »Sc  Eandall ;  embracing  Skinners  Notes  on  the  Breed  and  Management  of 
i-h«ep  in  the  United  :;tates,  and  on  the  Culture  of  Fine  Wool. 

YOUATT  ON  SHEEP ,   75 

Their  Breed,  Management  and  Diseases,  with  Illustrative  En- 
gfftving^ ;  to  which  are  added  Eemarks  on  the  Breeds  and  Management  of  Sheep  la 
!   the  Unitei  States,  and  on  the  Culture  of  Fine  Wool  in  Silesia.   By  William  Youatt. 

you  ATT  AND  MARTIN  ON  CATTLE ;       -       .        .       -  1  25 

Being  a  Treatise  on  their  Breeds,  Management,  and  Diseases, 

comprising  a  full  History  of  the  Various  Eaccs;  their  Origin,  Breeding,  and  Merits; 
their  capacity  for  Beef  and  Milk.  By  W.  Yottatt  and  W.  C.  L.  Martin.  The  whole 
forming  a  Complete  Guide  for  the  Farmer,  the  Amateur,  and  the  Veterinary  Surgeon, 
with  100  Illustrations.   Edited  by  Ambkosb  Stevens. 

yOUATT  ON  THE  HORSE  ;  1  25 

Youatt  on  the  Structure  and  Diseases  of  the  Horse,  with 
their  Eemedies.  Also,  Practical  Eules  for  Buyers,  Breeders,  Smiths,  &c.  Edited  by 
W.  0.  Spooitee,  M.E.C  V  S.  With  an  account  of  the  Breeds  in  the  United  States,  by 
HiacBT  S.  Eandali^ 


Books  FuhlisJied  by  A.  0.  Moore. 


7 


SrOUATT  AND  MARTIN  ON  TEE  HOG ;     -       -       -       -       $0  75 

A  Treatise  on  the  Beeeds,  Management,  and  Medical  Treat- 
ment  of  Swine,  with  Directions  for  Salting  Pork,  and  Curing  Facon  and  Hams.  By 
Wm.  YotJATT,  V.8  ,  and  W.  C.  L.Maetin.  Edited  by  Ambeose  Stevesb.  Illustrated 
witli  Engravings  drawn  from  life 

BLAKE'S  (REV.  JOHN  L.)  FARMER  AT  HOME  ;  ■  1  25 

A  Fasiilt  Text  Book  for  the  Country  ;  being  a  Cyclopedia  of 
Agricultural  Implements  and  Productions,  and  of  the  more  important  topics  in  Do« 
mestic  Economy,  tcience,  and  Literature,  adapted  to  Eural  Life.  By  Key.  John  L. 
Blaxb,D  D. 

MTTNN'S  (B.)  PRACTICAL  LAND  DRAINER ;       .        -       -  50 

Being  a  Treatise  on  Draining  Land,  in  which  the  most  approved 
Bystems  of  Drainage  are  explained,  and  their  differences  and  comparative  merits  dis- 
cussed; with  full  Directions  for  the  Cutting  and  Making  of  Drains,  with  Eemarks  upon 
the  various  materials  of  which  they  may  be  constructed.  "With  many  illustrations.  By 
B.  MuNK,  Landscape  Gardener. 

ELLIOTT'S  AMERICAN  FRUIT  GROWER'S  GUIDE  IN  ORCHARD 

AliD  GARDEN ;  1  25 

Being  a  Compend  of  the  History,  Modes  of  Propagation,  Cul- 

tnre,  Ac,  of  Fruit  Trees  and  Shrubs,  with  descriptions  of  nearly  all  the  varieties  of 
Fruits  cultivated  in  this  country ;  and  Notes  of  their  adaptation  to  localities,  soils,  and 
a  complete  list  of  fruits  worthy  of  cultivation.  By  F.  R.  Elliott,  Pomoiogist. 

PRACTICAL  FRUIT,  FLOWER,  AND  KITCHEN  GARDENER'S  COM- 
PANION;  -       -  1  GO 

With  a  Calendar.    By  Patrick  Neill,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.E.,  Secre 

tary  of  the  Eoyal  Caledonian  Horticultural  Society,  Adapted  to  the  United  States 
from  the  fourth  edition,  revised  and  improved  by  the  author.  Edited  by  G.  Emersox, 
M  D.,  Editor  of  "  The  American  Farmer's  Encyclopedia."  With  Notes  and  Additions 
by  E.  G.  Pardee,  author  of  "Manual  of  the  Strawberry  Culture."   With  illustrations 

STEPHENS'  (HENRY)  BOOK  OF  THE  FARM;  -       -  4  00 

A  Complete  Guide  to  the  Farmer,  Steward,  Plowman,  Cat- 
tleman,  Shepherd,  Field  Worker,  and  Dairy  Maid.  By  Henkt  Stephens.  With  Four 
Hundred  and  Fifty  Illustrations ;  to  which  are  added  Explanatory  Notes,  Eemarks, 
&c.,  by  J.  S.  Skesnee.   Eeally  one  of  the  best  books  a  farmer  can  possess. 

PEDDERS'  (JAMES)  FARMERS'  LAND  MEASURER ;  -       -  50 

Or,  Pocket  Companion  ;  Showing  at  one  view  the  Contents  of  any 
Piece  of  Land  from  Dimensions  taken  in  Yards.  With  a  set  of  Useful  Agrlculturi. 
Tables. 

WHITE'S  IW.  N.)  GARDENING  FOR  THE  SOUTH ;     -       -         1  25 

Or,  the  Kitchen  and  Fruit  Garden,  with  the  best  methods  for 

their  Cultivation ;  together  with  hints  upon  Landscape  and  Flower  Gardening;  con- 
taining modes  of  culture  and  descriptions  of  the  species  and  varieties  of  the  Culinary 
Vegetables,  Fruit  Trees,  and  Eruits,  and  a  select  list  of  Ornamental  Trees  and  Plants, 
found  by  trial  adapted  to  the  States  of  the  Union  south  of  Pennsylvania,  with  Garden- 
ing Calendars  for  the  same.   By  Wm.  N.  White,  of  Athens,  Georgia. 

EASTWOOD  CB.)  ON  THE  CULTIVATION  OF  THE  CRANBERRY ;  50 

"With  a  Description  of  the  best  Varieties.  By  B.  Eastwood, 
"Septimus"  of  the  New  York  Tribune. 

AMERICAN  BEE-KEEPER'S  MANUAL ;     -       -       -       -  100 

Being  a  Practical  Treatise  on  the  History  and  Domestic 

Economy  of  the  Honey  Bee,  embracing  a  full  illustration  of  the  whole  subject,  with 
the  most  approved  methods  of  managing  this  Insect,  through  every  branch  of  it* 
CTilture;  the  re^ul*  of  many  years'  experience.  Illustrated  with  many  engravings 
By  T.  B.  MiNEB. 


Boohs  Published  by  A.  0.  IkloonE. 


THAEK'S  (ALBERT  DO  AGEICTJLTUEE  -       -       -        $2  CO 

The  Principles  of  Agriculture,  by  Albert  D.  Thaer  ;  trans- 
lated by  William  Shaw  and  Cuthbebt  W.  Johksow,  Esq.,  F.E.S.  "With  a  Memoir 
of  the  Author.   1  vol.  8vo. 

This  work  is  regarded  by  those  who  are  competent  to  judge  as  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  works  that  has  ever  appeared  on  the  subject  of  Agriculture.  At  the  samo 
time  that  it  is  eminently  practical,  it  is  philosoi'hicai,  and,  even  to  the  general  reader, 
remarkably  entertaining. 

BOUSSINGAULT'S  (J.  B.)  EUEAL  ECONOMY,  -       -  1  25 

In  its  Eelations  to  Chemistry,  Physics,  and  Meteorology  : 

or.  Chemistry  applied  to  Agriculture.  By  J.  B.  BoxTSsniGAUiT.  Translated,  with 
notes,  etc.,  by  Geokge  Law,  Agriculturist. 

"  The  work  is  the  fruit  of  a  long  life  of  study  and  experiment,  and  its  perusal  will 
•id  the  farmer  greatly  in  obtaining  a  practical  and  scientific  knowledge  of  his  profes 
sion." 

MYSTEEIES  OF  BEE-KEEPING  EXPLAINED ;    -       -       -  100 

Being  a  Complete  Analysis  of  the  Whole  Subject,  consisting 

of  the  Natural  History  of  Bees ;  Directions  for  obtaining  the  greatest  amount  of  Pure 
Surplus  Honey  with 'the  least  possible  expense;  Komedies  for  losses  given,  and  the 
Science  of  Luck  fully  illustrated;  the  result  of  more  than  twenty  years'' experience  in 
extensive  Apiaries.   ByM.  Quikbv. 

THE  COTTAGE  AND  FAEM  BEE-SEEPEE ;        -       .       .  50 

A  Practical  "Work,  by  a  Country  Curate. 
WEEKS  (JOHN  M.)  ON  BEES.-A  MAl^UAL ;      -       -       -  50 

Or,  an  Easy  Method  of  Managing  Bees  in  the  most  profitable 
manner  to  their  owner;  with  infallible  rules  to  prevent  their  destruction  by  the  Moih. 
With  an  appendix,  by  "Woostee  A.  Flandkes. 

THE  EOSE ;  -  50 

Being  a  Practical  Treatise  on  the  Propagation,  Cultivation, 
and  Management  «f  the  Eose  in  all  Seasons;  with  a  list  of  Choice  and  Approved  Varie- 
ties, adapted  to  the  Climate  of  the  United  States;  to  which  is  added  full  directions  for 
the  Treatment  of  the  Dahlia.   Illustrated  by  Engravings. 
MOOEE'S  EUEAL  HAND  BOOKS,  1  25 

First  Series,  containing  Treatises  on — 

The  IToese,  The  Pests  of  the  Faem, 

The  Hog,  Domestic  Fowls,  and 

The  Honey  Bee,  The  Cow, 

Second  Series,  containing —  .      .      .      .         l  25 

fvEET  Lady  hek  owif  Flowee  Gaedknbe,      Essay  on  Manures, 
(Clements  of  AGEiotrxTXJEE,  American  Kitchen  Gaedeneb, 

«)IED  FaNCIEE,  AmEBICAN  KoSE  CULTtJEIST. 

Third  Series,  containing —  1  25 

MxLEB  on  the  Hoese'8  Foot,  Vine  Deessee's  Manxtal, 

The  Eabbit  Fanciee,    *  Bee-Keepfe's  Chaet, 

"Weeks  on  Bees,  Chemistey  made  Easy. 

Fourth  Series,  containing —     -  -      .      -         l  25 

Peesoz  on  the  Vine,  Hoopee's  Dog  and  Gtnr, 

Liebig  8  Famillae  Lettebs,  Skillful  liousEWiFK, 

Beowne'8  Memoies  of  Indian  Coen. 

RICHAEDSON  ON  DOGS  :  THEIE  OEIGIN  AND  VARIETIES.    .  50 

Directions  as  to  their  General  Management.    "Witb  numerou? 
original  anecdotes.   Also.  Complete  Instructions  as  to  Treatment  under  Disease.  By 
B.  D.  EiCHAEDSON.   Illustrated  with  numerous  wood  engravings. 
This  is  not  only  a  cheap  work,  but  one  of  the  best  ever  published  on  the  Dog. 


